


Ask the Messenger

by Metis_Ink



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, Implied/Referenced Torture, Multi, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, i killed sarah with this fic, im sorry, implied suicidal thoughts, she wanted me to put that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6232315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metis_Ink/pseuds/Metis_Ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeremy Knox and the soulmate.</p><p><b>Guest starring</b>: Exy, a transfer student, generalized anxiety, older sisters, drunk lesbians, bread, cake, a shed, the beach, the absence of Hennessy, Star Wars, Renee Walker, self-taught smooth talking, gratuitous French, No. 1 Trojans fan Kevin Day, relationship drama, general drama, the power of Friendship, questions, answers, team spirit!, and, of course, romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Episode 1

**Author's Note:**

> Aka a following of Jeremy's fifth year at USC, with a slight twist. 
> 
> Never did I think I would write a soulmate AU. But now I have. So. Here it is. Special thanks to [Sarah](ziegenkind.tumblr.com), WHO THIS IS THE FAULT OF and for kicking my ass, and also [Jenny](http://rileybluuseys.tumblr.com/) for cheerleading and making me cry at inappropriate times of the night. THANKS TO BOTH OF THEM for staying up really late to read this fic whenever I finished an episode and making sure it got finished with my heart intact. 
> 
> A slight warning that this fic includes a couple panic attacks, mentions of abuse and torture, mentions of past character death, and implications of depressive/suicidal thoughts. If I forgot to mention anything, please tell me! Other wise, enjoy!

Alvarez catches him sneaking him out of their post-game celebration. Figures, she’s never been the one to let these thing slide past her radar. Jeremy is just starting up his car when she slides into the passenger’s seat and slams the door behind her.

“ _Sara,_ ” he hisses, somewhat out of surprise, mostly out of frustration. “Why are you here?”

“Making sure you don’t do anything stupid tonight,” she says, but her eyes are fixated on the dashboard. She’s seen him like this before, unfortunately, from last year. He’s not usually out on March second, but they had a game to play today; he couldn’t let this affect it.  “What’s on your arm?”

Jeremy’s mouth twitches. His hand is frozen on his keys, mind blank. Of course Alvarez knows why he’s leaving, everyone probably does, Jeremy doesn’t know why he bothers sneaking out anymore. But it’s become a tradition to him, treating it like a secret.

Alvarez tries again. “Where were you planning to go?”

“The court,” Jeremy says. After a pause, “I feel more confident there.”

“And then what?” Alvarez asks, her eyes catching on Jeremy’s long sleeves. “What did they say?”

Jeremy shoots her a glare. “That’s none of your business.”

“Well it’s making you scared, so how do I know it’s not going to scare me too?” She flashes a wild look at him, a strange sight when not accompanied by her usual grin. “I always told myself that one person couldn’t break me, but the strongest person I know falls apart twice a year because of a mark. How do I know I’m not going to wake up one day like you?”

It’s on the tip of his tongue that Jeremy falls apart more than twice a year. She stills him with the tone of her voice, desperate and angry from fear. Jeremy doesn’t know what appears on her arm, but he has an idea.

“Do they ask for you?” he asks her.

“Shut up,” she grumbles, and then reconsiders. “Sometimes.”

“They asked for me once,” Jeremy tells her. “Six years ago. They never asked again.”

Alvarez’s gaze drifts over his arm. “Do you think they’ll ask for you tonight?”

“No,” Jeremy says. “They won’t.”

“Then what are you so scared of?” she asks him. “If they’re not begging for you?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“It’s going to tear you piece by piece every year, until there’s nothing else left to break,” Alvarez says in a weak voice. “Tell me and I’ll leave.”

Jeremy clenches his teeth and grips the end of his sleeve, where he can see the letters fading into existence. Inside him, a hot sense of relief bubbles up through the fear. There’s only one line this year. He’s still not ready to see it, but he can’t take Alvarez with him to the court. This has always been between him, and his answerer.

“That one day there they’ll stop asking questions.”

 

* * *

 

Jeremy is twelve when he gets his first soul mark. It’s March second, as it will be for all the years that follow, but it comes out of nowhere the first time. They fade into his right arm as bold letters, like he’s washing away skin and slowly revealing the message underneath. Once he figures it out, he immediately hides it under a blanket and tight-knit sweaters.

This isn’t unusual, for people with older soulmates. Marks only start appearing when one’s soulmate stops imagining and starts believing in the questions they want to ask the world, when they learn about desire and hope and helplessness. Children don’t worry about such things, so most soul marks usually come in when the other is of adolescent age.

“You’ll introduce me to your soulmate when you meet them, right, Jers?” Maya teases him. His sister is only a year older than him, but she still thinks adult-equals-benefits. She’ll probably want to be President one day. “What did they say?”

“Nothing.” Jeremy sticks his tongue out at her when she makes for a swat at him. “You’re just jealous you don’t have yours yet!”

“Let me see!”

“Jeremy, sweetie, do you want us to take a look at it?” His mother. She’s always been understanding one, especially when it came to marks. “We can help you with your answer.”

Jeremy tugs his blanket closer around his shoulders. He doesn’t feel stubbornness anymore. It’s worry. Anxiousness, not something uncommon to him, even now. He swallows and thinks about the person linked to his arm. What their voice sounds like. How they would ask him if they were with him now. “No.”

Maya lets out a throaty groan, though his mother is only frowning; she notices Jeremy’s expression.

“Alright,” she says, hesitant to leave him, but drags Maya away anyway.

Jeremy watches them leave. Once alone, he goes upstairs pulls down the ladder to the attic, locking himself away for the rest of the day.

 

* * *

 

They say you only have twenty-four hours to come up with an answer for your soulmate, and even then, what you come up with may not be what they see. They’ll see what you believe the answer is, not what you want to say. They bared their soul to you, it’s only fair you bare it back.

Jeremy stuffs himself in between a couple dusty boxes and curls into himself, fingers pressed against the inky words on his right arm. Already, his soulmate has drawn him in, adopted a part of his mind. But all Jeremy feels stirring is a heavy sense of fear.

 ** _Will they ever love me?_** his right arm asks.

 

* * *

 

Jeremy’s soulmate isn’t older, and they’re not Jeremy’s age, either. They’re younger.

It’s one of the few things Jeremy knows about them by instinct. He can tell when he reads their question. The tone. Like they were standing right in front of him. It’s the same way he knows they weren’t talking about a romantic partner, or a friend, but their parents. And how their doubt is greater than their hope. And how much it hurt to have to _ask_.

Jeremy wonders if he’ll be able to ask his soulmate a question this year. The only reason he knows he hasn’t already is because his left arm has always been clean. That’s always the way it’s been, your soulmate’s question on your right arm, their answer to yours on your left. Jeremy guesses he’s never been ready to ask.

After this, he suddenly feels ten years older. He just might be.

Not by choice.

He doesn’t know why the older kids bragged about getting their soul marks. It was rite of passage, a way of knowing you’re mature enough. Smart enough to be asking the bigger questions.

But this isn’t a gift, Jeremy realizes. It rattles him dizzy, realizing he’d be revealing so much to someone he doesn’t even know. What are they like? What would they think of him, when they see his questions? His answers? How can anyone take something like this for granted?

How can he answer them?

Jeremy can’t say yes when he doesn’t even understand. But he can’t say no. It sounds like such a simple question, but he has to say anything but _I don’t know_. He doesn’t want to fail his soulmate. He can’t let go of someone waiting for an answer.

His mother finds him having a panic attack in the attic at midnight. She probably went looking for him when she didn’t see him in his room, and now he’s struggling to breathe in her arms.

“I don’t know what to say,” he chokes out between breaths. “What do I say, Mom?”

“They’ll hear you,” she tells him, not even knowing the question, but with faith. “They’ll hear you and that’s all you need to know. Just give them your voice, Jeremy.”

When the twenty fourth hour passes the next day, Jeremy doesn’t know what he answered. He just hopes he was good enough to help them. 

 

* * *

 

The first answer Jeremy gets comes in the September of that same year. It’s a blunt and emotionless _No_.

He can’t confirm what he thinks he asked, but Jeremy guesses his soulmate isn’t okay.

 

* * *

 

As he grows up, it puzzles Jeremy why teenagers aren’t as private about their marks as he is. Then again, he doesn’t talk to a lot of people in middle school. Or the first part of high school, for that matter. He’s too scared to ask, and no one really wants to talk to him anyway, so no, he’s not really in much active discussion. He has a few friends, but they’re not much like the regular crowd. They mostly sit around each other’s living rooms and talk about Star Wars and the Court. They all agree their opinions don’t count for much.

Every year he thinks that maybe his soulmate might ask easier questions, and every March second, he’s wrong. He’s stopped having panic attacks the moment he sees them, but that doesn’t stop him from camping out in the attic every following night. If anything, they get worse. Repetitive.

**_Was I ever worth anything?_ **

**_Will I ever be good enough?_ **

_Yes_ , Jeremy thinks. Says. Breathes. He traces it onto his skin and repeats the word so many times until he’s _sure_ he believes it, _sure_ he knows, in his heart, that that’s the answer. He can’t possibly think of saying otherwise, but he can’t afford even a percentage of that risk.

It’s selfishness, combined with worry. He doesn’t know his soulmate, who they are or what they’d mean to him, but he needs to know he’s giving them something. That he’s not failing them. Somebody had to tell them they’re _worth something_. He whispers the word for twenty-four hours and is still shaking by the twenty-fifth.

For a year or two, he hates his soulmate. He hates the responsibility he has and the fear that comes with it. He’d already an anxious wreck; he doesn’t need another thing to stress about year after year.

But those feelings disappear on his own birthdays. He almost forgets he’s asking questions too. It astounds him that someone is listening. He starts looking at his left arm differently from his right, remembering that somewhere, someone is trying to understand him too.

_Normalcy doesn’t exist, stop asking._

_You’re not the unlucky one. Do something productive._

They’re a snarky little shit.

 

* * *

 

“Try out for the Exy team,” Maya tells him at the beginning of Jeremy’s sophomore year. She’s flat on her back on the floor of the community court, scowling at him from under her helmet. “If you don’t, I’ll throw you at them myself.”

Jeremy scoffs and offers her a hand up. “Good luck with that.”

“I’m serious.” Once she’s on her feet, she whacks him on the arm with her racquet and shoves a finger into his face. “You beat me and everyone else in this nasty place every day and you won’t even stand up for yourself at school.”

Jeremy would probably choke on his own tongue if he tried to stand up for himself, but Maya should already know that. She just knows better how badly he mouths her at home. “I won’t be very welcome there.”

She sets her racquet to the side and slips the glasses off Jeremy’s face, blinding him. He makes a grab for them, but just ends up flailing at some air above her shoulder. “Get some contacts and get on the court. Once they see what you can do, you’ll have a lot less to worry about.” When his expression doesn’t change, she tilts her head and goes for the kill. “What would your soulmate say if they could see you now?”

Jeremy opens his mouth. Shuts it. Opens it again. “Don’t bring them into this.”

Maya waves him off. “Do it for yourself, then.”

 

* * *

 

Jeremy mulls over it. Over and over again that he almost doesn’t realize his sixteenth birthday has come and gone. He’s sitting in the parking lot of In & Out Burger with Maya and Millie when there’s a sudden tingling in his left arm. The feeling nearly makes him spill his drink all over the dashboard.

Maya’s disappeared somewhere inside to complain about her fries, but Millie is still in the car and Jeremy was so caught up with school that he forgot to wear sleeves today. He scrambles to hide his mark, but there’s little one can hide from a nine-year-old.

“Is that your soulmate?” Millie asks, squeezing herself between the two front seats. “Are they saying Happy Birthday?”

“Millie if you sit down and don’t talk for the rest of the night I will give you my entire milkshake, how’s that?”

She pretends to consider it for a moment and is back in her seat two seconds later, pouring the milkshake down her throat. Negotiating with elementary schoolers is so easy. Jeremy’s thumb rubs circles into his left arm, and inevitably, he looks down to read it.

_Exy is the only thing worthwhile._

Jeremy folds his arms over his chest and refuses to let go until Maya takes them home.

 

* * *

 

It’s not a good answer. Jeremy doesn’t know what he asked to get his soulmate to give him one like that, anyway. If he wasted this year’s question for ‘Should I play Exy,’ Jeremy might just throw himself in the Pacific.

But he wonders. Jeremy isn’t confident enough yet to trust himself, but there are other possibilities. The one that sticks with him most, that he might have asked, is **_Is Exy worth the risk?_**

It’s the only thing worth something, apparently.

It shouldn’t be. Jeremy has enough common sense that he can’t prioritize everything on a sport. But the more he thinks about the answer, the more doubtful he gets.

What has his soulmate lost that only Exy is left? What would they give to keep it? What was Jeremy so scared of losing that he couldn’t go to one tryout and maybe, _maybe_ show off a little skill?

_Stop asking._

_Do something productive_.

His soulmate is terrible, but Jeremy can’t help but feel as if he’s starting to get attached.

 

* * *

 

(He is a _little_ bit happy that his soulmate likes Exy too.)

(Okay a lot.)

 

* * *

 

Jeremy is captain of his high school Exy team by senior year, and people have stopped shoving him into lockers. He’s never felt like this before. There’s a new steel in his voice that comes when people look up at him with respect. A power that fills him when his hands curl around a racquet. Most of the people that used to push him around have long graduated, and now the only people he has to impress are the ones who use him as an example. He can’t let them down.

He never expected it to make him feel this good.

The constant pressure on his shoulders is still there, a heavy weight before every game. The pressure that people care more than ever about what he does. It’s suffocating, but it only pushes him further ahead.

There are times when they lose and times when they win so well it’s embarrassing. Either time, the other team’s captain will shove a hand Jeremy’s way, with either resentment or arrogance. At those times, Jeremy is itching with loose nerves. Pride. Embarrassment. Fear. But it all subsides.

He knows. He knows it’s all worth it for that feeling he has on the court. He loves it. This is what living feels like, the feeling of a racquet in his hands, facing down monsters bigger than he is. Being the one in control. That is Exy. The fire in his heart. The blood in his veins. The desire to win, but never give up.

 _Exy_ , he thinks. _Exy makes it worthwhile_.

And to that, Jeremy grins, takes the other captain's hand, and watches their expression fall when he tells them, “Thanks for the game. It was an honor to play with you.”

Bad advice from someone he doesn’t even know, but somehow, it had worked.

 

* * *

 

His soulmate asks for him in the March of his graduating year.

**_Is there any point in hoping for them?_ **

There’s always an instinctive pull toward the vague keywords of their questions. Jeremy knows all too quickly that _them_ is their soulmate. _Them_ is Jeremy. His soulmate was thinking about him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Jeremy has a panic attack in the attic for the first time in years. Millie finds him and crawls into his lap, complaining only a little when he holds her too tight.

It’s a protective embrace for someone he can’t protect.

 

* * *

 

His soulmate doesn’t ask for him again.

 

* * *

 

Jeremy stops pulling himself back altogether when he gets a sports scholarship for SoCal. He’d gotten sick of being weak long ago, but the stakes are higher now. The glory is greater. By now he needs Exy so much there is nothing more he wanted than to _win_.

(Though he remembers, twice a year, that there might be something he wants even more.)

The Trojans are mystifying. They’re nothing like the strict social hierarchy of high school. They’re unbelievably accepting, caring, everything Jeremy would have loved to have had years ago.

He makes friends. He plays Exy. He wins and loves and learns. He puts so much of himself into the Trojans that he can’t go an hour without thinking about them. The vote for his captaincy in his third year is unanimous, and like that, he feels like he’s _worth_ something. Every part of him wants to show his soulmate this place and how amazing it is to exist here.

He has to escape his own birthday party so he can read the answer he gets that year. He doesn’t know what to expect, but he’s sure not ready for what he gets.

 _I’m impossible to save_.

It’s funny how all of the confidence he’s worked for can waver by four words on his arm.

 

* * *

 

Jeremy advances every year as his soulmate degrades. He builds himself as a leader, as a teammate, and is surrounded by people that trust and admire him. He’s growing as a person. Kinder, wiser. But everything he gains makes him scared of leaving his soulmate behind.

He knows soulmates always find each other at some point. It’s inevitable, whether they’re eight or eighty, they’ll meet. That’s why they’re soulmates. His mother found his father when she saved him from falling off a boat when they were fifteen. Maya met hers on an exchange trip to India and celebrated her birthday alone at a restaurant when he waited her table. They found out they were soulmates the same year, and they haven’t left each other’s line of contact since.

His great aunt’s soulmate had died in a car crash before they could ever meet. She only knew when the questions stopped appearing and she found them on the news the following year. She had been inconsolable, losing someone who had been so close to her heart.

Soulmates always find each other unless something happens to them first.

 

* * *

 

“I think Laila’s my soulmate,” Alvarez tells Jeremy, before she leaves. They’re in the car on the evening of his twenty second birthday, and she’s tracing their goalkeeper’s name into her arm. “Her depression got really bad in her junior year. She told me once her soulmate saved her life, amongst other things.” She gives a humorless chuckle. “I nearly got into an accident worrying over her questions.”

Jeremy cracks a sad smile. “She’s lucky.” _Not all of them are_ , goes unsaid, but Alvarez hears it in his voice.

“Can I see?” Alvarez asks, not unlike his mother. “Maybe I can help.”

Jeremy shakes his head. “This is just between us.” He clutches the wrist of his sleeve. His anger is fading off, being replaced with sympathy. “And I only have twenty-four hours left to think about it. Sorry, but I think I want to be alone right now.”

Alvarez— stubborn, determined Alvarez— shuts up and nods in quiet understanding. For a brief moment, she doesn’t move, and then: “Please don’t let them break you.”

“I won’t,” Jeremy promises her.

He was fragile then, but he’s spent years, too many hours and days of precious time building himself up to give this up now. He still shakes whenever he pulls his sleeve down, and he misses the comfortable attic of his childhood home, but it’s not the way he wants to live.

He has to be stronger.

“I want to help them, but I know that I’m not enough.”

“Maybe you are,” Alvarez tells him. “You don’t know them yet. How do you know you’re not?”

She disappears not long after that, and no more than half an hour later, Jeremy is situated in the stands of the court. He pulls down his sleeve to stare at the question on his arm.

**_Was it worth coming this far?_ **

_Yes_ , Jeremy wants to say. _Yes. Yes. Yes, because I know we’ll meet, and once I find you, you won’t have to ask anymore_.

Is he being selfish? How long would it be before they’d even meet? How much long will he be convincing his soulmate to hold on for someone he’s never even met?

Jeremy is so sick of waiting to find them.

 

* * *

 

“I’m going to reduce the line.”

Coach Rhemann’s office is empty, as assured by the both of them before Jeremy decided to announce his decision. The only person whose reaction he’s prepared for at the moment is Coach’s, because Jeremy’s not sure he could take it with anyone more. He hasn’t told Alvarez yet, or Laila, or anyone, because this idea had only been at the back of his mind before last night. He needed to tell Coach before something changed his mind, and something would.

Coach’s gaze, once fixed again, is unwavering. “To what?”

“Nine.” Jeremy doesn’t miss the way Coach’s mouth tightens at that. Jeremy holds his ground. “We haven’t paid attention to our individual player’s strengths and weaknesses. The Trojans have been team-based for as long as we can remember, but if we don’t start putting pressure on each player, we’ll weaken. “

“You’ve been watching Fox matches again,” Coach notes.

“Yes,” Jeremy admits. The Foxes, despite all of their drama, have taken the season by storm. Nine players, extremely individual-based, to accompany their fierce spirit. Each one fighting like their life was on the line.

“Are you unhappy with how the team is now?”

“No,” Jeremy says. “I’m unsatisfied.”

Coach raises an eyebrow. It’s not often Jeremy voices such clear disapproval; he doesn’t like making controversial decisions, but if he’s going hard, he might as well go all the way.

“We’ve always been second to the Ravens. Third, even. I’m sick of us being stuck beneath them. The Foxes challenged them and they’re winning; they’re an example. If you need any other reason I will give it to you through results and effort. Just let me reduce the line.”

Coach stares at him for a long while, assessing him. His straight back and hardened features. His conviction. “What brought this on?” he asks. “Why now? You’ve been happy to be team-centered before.”

“I’ve been cautious before.” _Weaker_ , he doesn’t say. “I couldn’t have come so far if I didn’t take risks.”

Coach snorts, humored. “You’re so serious today, Knox. You sound desperate.”

Jeremy responds with a fleeting smile. “Just tired of losing.”

They reduce the line. He’s not ready for the backlash, but he’ll have to be, this is what’s best for the team. But when he thinks about it, the response he’ll get, people giving up on them and looking at him with betrayal on their faces, his breath grows thin.

Maybe he’s a little desperate. Maybe he can blame his soulmate, who reminds him of urgency and risk and everything he needs to survive. His soulmate who answers his questions and reminds Jeremy there are things he should be doing rather than stand around and wait for luck to come his way. Who reminds him that there is a goal in life, a purpose, and the freedom Jeremy has to reach it himself.

He wants to win. If fear is what’s stopping that, he’ll fight it tooth and nail.

 

* * *

 

The day he announces the new line, Kevin Day approaches him at semifinals.

 

* * *

 

Jeremy knows Jean Moreau in two ways: from the media, and from the court.

The media knows Jean has been Riko Moriyama’s right hand ever since Kevin left, that he is a ward of the Moriyamas, and that he the number 3 backliner of the Raven’s starting line. He never leaves Riko’s side and little is known outside of his association with him.

But Jeremy prefers the Jean he knows on the court. He’s a threat, a big one. Going up against Jean is all quick footwork and high adrenaline. He knows how to move, always when you least expect it, like he’s a soldier at war. It’s only courteous Jeremy give him the same.

He had spoken to Jean once, following their defeat at championships. Jean had been recovering from one of Jeremy’s checks after a long fight with the Trojans, and Jeremy had been so caught up in the game he barely noticed the buzzer sound.

“Good job out there,” he tells Jean between breaths. He offers a gloved hand. “It was an honor playing against you.”

Jean stares at his hand for a fraction of a second, and for that moment, Jeremy thinks he’d actually take it. But Jean had merely brushes it off and pushes himself to his feet.

“Likewise,” Jean tells him, accent sharp. His glare does nothing to qualm the sense of competitiveness burning in Jeremy’s stomach.

“Hey,” Jeremy says. “I’ll see you again next year, right?”

“Maybe,” Jean says. A dark look flashes in his eyes, forcing Jeremy to stop in his tracks. It was gone the moment it had appeared, but it forced words up Jeremy’s throat that he just couldn’t seem to bring out. 

He eases on a broad smile. “Don’t go too far, Moreau.”

“We’ll see, Knox.” And then Jean leaves at Riko’s beckoning. It was only at the sight of his retreating back that Jeremy once thought, _I wonder what he’d look like on my line_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes and a chance to reblog this fic on [tumblr](http://biijoubee.tumblr.com/post/140939598988/)!


	2. Episode 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [high school musical voice] SUMMER. Feel free to correct my French.
> 
> Many thanks to **lesrevolutionnaires** for actually correcting my French?? Kisses!

The moment Kevin suggests a backliner to him, Jeremy knows exactly who he’s talking about.

“He’s good,” Kevin promises. “He will only be beneficial to the line.”

“And?” Jeremy asks, because he knows there’s more Kevin can say. His grin is long gone, caught up by newfound determination.

Kevin’s lips pinch white. “He needs to be somewhere where the Ravens can’t reach him,” he says. “Physically or otherwise.”

Jeremy knows Kevin Day listens to him, amazingly. What Jeremy’s done to earn Kevin’s respect, through his team and his skill, Jeremy values greatly. If Kevin sees enough in Jeremy to trust with a man like Jean, he won’t let himself fail. There’s someone who needs him right now.

“Of course,” Jeremy says with a genuine smile. “You know he’ll be safe with us.”

The relief in Kevin’s eyes is enough to convince him this was the right decision.

 

* * *

 

The second time he talks to Jean, it’s all business.

Or at least, it should be. It’s hard to be pure business when the place feels more like an ER than a bedroom. Renee Walker is planted outside the door like a guardian angel, and she had flashed Jeremy a grateful yet sympathetic smile when he’d come by.

“I can’t promise he’ll be cooperative,” she tells him. “It’s not pretty. He’s been through a lot.”

“I’ll take that challenge,” Jeremy says, and closes the door behind him.

A challenge, it is. It takes Jeremy a moment to recover from the fact that someone could actually do this to another human being. Jean hides most of his injuries under thick sweatshirts and bandaging, but that doesn’t save him from the awkward state of healing he’s been in ever since his escape. An angry scar tears up from his chin to the corner of his eye, and bruises are yellowing over his entire face. He looks lost, as if he’s still wondering how he could be here.

“’Afternoon,” Jeremy begins, casual. He attempts to ease the mood with a bright smile. “Did Kevin tell you I was coming by?”

“Yes,” Jean says. His voice is rough, but oddly calm. “He said you have a backliner position open.”

“We’ll have a line of eight people soon, thanks to graduation coming up,” Jeremy says. “And we have a lot of talented players on hand, but I was hoping you’d like the position instead.”

Jean scans him with an analytical eye, and Jeremy is sure not to move. He’s assessing him, much like most Ravens did. Jeremy wonders how differently Jean would think of him off of the court. “Why?”

“Because you have nowhere else to go,” Jeremy tells him simply. “You’re quick, skilled, and intelligent. If the Ravens can’t treat you like you’re worth something and have the audacity to throw you away, then maybe it’s time you found somewhere else to be.”

The wording of Jeremy’s argument makes Jean look up. His expression twitches, and his gaze flickers away for a fraction of a second. Jeremy isn’t sure if he caught Jean off-guard, or if he just made Jean remember something unpleasant. He tries a different approach.

“It’ll be worthwhile,” Jeremy says. “We may not be anything Raven material, but we’re good in our own way. Maybe you’d like to try something new, if it helps.”

Jean pins him with an unreadable look in his eye, one Jeremy takes with stride. He hasn’t been kicked out quiet yet, so there’s still a chance. That’s all Jeremy needs.

He’s able to breathe again when Jean’s figure relaxes, tension easing from his shoulders. “Anything else I should know?”

“We can’t give you your old number back,” Jeremy tells him.

“That’s fine,” Jean says immediately, but he hesitates before continuing with, “I’ll take anything without a three in it.”

“I can do that,” Jeremy promises, and means it. “Anything to make you feel like you have a place with us.”

“Just don’t make your team a laughing stock again this year,” Jean scoffs.

Despite his crassness, Jeremy can’t help but grin. “Help us there, Jean Moreau, and maybe you can make sure of it.”

Jean doesn’t thank him, but Renee does, when he leaves, hiding a quiet sob behind her grateful voice.

 

* * *

 

Transferring Jean had been so simple, all they had needed were a couple documents and some stubbornly-pried consent from their new backliner, but keeping Jean, Jeremy knows, is going to be the hard part.

Without the Ravens or the Moriyamas, Jean doesn’t have a home. Jeremy’s family is friendly, but he is 100% sure Jean would be overwhelmed the moment he meets two overenthusiastic parents and four of Jeremy’s under-eighteen siblings. It’s no question that Jeremy is going to be staying for the summer at USC.

He ropes Laila and Alvarez into it with him. He trusts them the most out of their near-thirty Trojans. At least, those out of the ones who still aren’t mad at him for reducing the line for championships, which isn’t a lot.  

For the summer, they stay at one of the apartments meant for overnight guests. Laila and Alvarez take an apartment next door, and Coach Rhemann provides funding without protests. They’re not big accommodations, but they’re better than nothing.

Jean doesn’t complain much. Jeremy doesn’t know much he can trust that, but he’ll have to deal with it later. In the meantime, his job is to make sure all goes well with their new addition. Jean doesn’t reply when he’s handed his uniform, but merely glares when he sees the number underneath a golden MOREAU.

“Of course,” he says, bitter about something. The corner of Jeremy’s mouth twitches in amusement.

“Have something against the number ten?” Jean asks.

“Worn best by troublesome people,” Jean says with a hint of a sneer in his voice. Jeremy has to keep himself from laughing at the irony. “It didn’t make him very happy.”

Jeremy’s smile drops in an instant, subconsciously catching the still-healing scar on Jean’s face, right underneath the 3 on his cheekbone. There’s a crushing guilt in the bottom of his stomach that he doesn’t show. “I can request you a new one.”

He can feel his hands start to shake, but he clamps them down over each other.

“This is fine,” Jean says, folding the jersey up and setting it on his made bed. He’s such a neat and meticulous person that Jeremy almost regrets rooming with him. Jeremy himself is a mess. He wonders how long he’ll be able to keep up the orderly-captain ruse before Jean figures him out and hates him. “Do you have curfew?”

That wasn’t the question Jeremy had been expecting. “No, I was actually thinking you could go out with me and the girls tonight.” When Jeremy doesn’t respond, Jeremy elaborates with, “Laila Dermott and Sara Alvarez.”

“Your goalkeeper and number six backliner,” Jean says. He catches Jeremy’s surprise. “I like it when my targets have names.”

“You might want to fix your choice of wording eventually,” Jeremy suggests. “People won’t like it.”

“Believe me when I say I honestly don’t care.”

“Well,” Jeremy says. “Guess that’s team spirit.”

 

* * *

 

The first few weeks are filled with awkward outings and tours. By the end of them, Jeremy isn’t sure whether it would have been easier for him to just hear Jean say ‘No’ whenever he was invited out, or to witness Jean’s obvious forced sense of comfort. He seems to be okay with the tours, a valuable source of information, but adamantly avoids the beach. Tragic, as Los Angeles is right next to an ocean.

But Jean is more than ready to start practice once their nurse gives him the OK. Jeremy feels a spark of pride seeing him in red and gold. It’s a little unfair being ready to face off an injured Jean at practice, but their new backliner isn’t the only one missing the court.

But even despite his injuries, Jean holds back nothing. A bitter part of Jeremy blames it on the Raven’s inhumane training techniques, but the selfish, competitive part of him is too riled up to care. He pushes down that latter part of him until Jean calls him out on his mistake halfway through.

“Are you holding back on me?” he asks, not hiding the irritation in his voice.

“It’s courtesy,” Jeremy says.

“It’s an insult,” Jean says and spins his racquet impatiently.  “Stop brushing me off when we both know you can knock me down.”

He sounds so much like Kevin that Jeremy almost laughs. The memory of the Kevin that had just left the Ravens is still fresh in his mind, the seemingly unstoppable man not being able to leave a Minyard and putting all of his heart into one single-minded interest.

But watching Jean get caught up in this single-minded interest is the most expression he’s had all month. Jeremy is too proud to complain. Besides, there’s no need to rush.

“If you bleed on the court you’re going straight back to the bench,” Jeremy tells him, and when Jean tries to reply, “ _Immediately_.”

Jean scowls. Jeremy begins to think that’s his default expression.

“Fair deal, okay? Great.” He then checks Jean into the boards and scores in one move. Jean retaliates by flooring him on the next play. None of Jean’s stitches open by some miraculous force throughout their violent montage, but his unique style and his unbound skillset test every card Jeremy has to play. He hasn’t had this much fun in a practice session in a while.

He still gives Jean an ice pack after practice. There’s nothing Jean can do to argue against it, so it’s a point for Jeremy this round.

 

* * *

 

Jean doesn’t hide anything in the locker room. Jeremy isn’t sure if it’s because it’s just them, or he’s too used to the scars to care. He’d be lying if he said they didn’t bother him, but mostly because it reminds Jeremy about how breakable Jean is.

He’s trying to get used to it, but it’s hard. Riko’s abuse, and how extensive it was, shows. The scars patch up his body, new over old, of varying shapes and sizes. If Jean notices his concern, he doesn’t react to it.

A familiar pull brings Jeremy’s gaze down to Jean’s arms, and the first thought that catches him is, “When’s your birthday?”

Jean is halfway through putting on his shirt when he turns to Jeremy, suspicious. “Why would you need to know that?”

“I give players the day off on their birthdays,” Jeremy explains in his routine manner. “One of two days, if you want to tell me the other.”

“Because of this, right?” Jean taps his forearm, quickly recognizing Jeremy’s train of thought. “I don’t need a day off.”

Jeremy stops. “You don’t have one?”

“No, it’s just not important. Don’t make me skip practice for a question.”

Jeremy’s expression falters. His relationship with his own soulmate may be on the fence, but he cares too much to be able to brush it off like Jean suggests. “Can I know anyway?”

“You have my file; you can check,” Jean says, and then disappears into the hallway.

He tells Alvarez and Laila about the confrontation later, mostly out of frustration, to which Alvarez replies, “Jean has a soulmate?”

Jeremy stares at her. “Yes, of course he does, why would you…”

And then it hits him with full force that, yes, Jean has a _soulmate_.

Jean Moreau has a soulmate. Just like everyone has at some point. Just like Jeremy does.

In a way, Jeremy envies that person, Jean’s soulmate; they’re probably the only person able to really see what Jean wants. Jean has the same curse of forcing himself to bear his heart every year to a possible stranger, and with someone with as many secrets as Jean, it must be unbearable.

Jeremy wonders if Jean trusted himself to answer his soulmate’s questions.

 

* * *

 

Jeremy doesn’t check his file.

(It feels like cheating. For Jean’s trust, yes, but also in a way that just feels _wrong_.)

 

* * *

 

Jeremy _does_ , however, call Kevin Day.

He has an extensive list of things he wants to ask about Jean; what he likes, what he doesn’t, how often he lies about his injuries, what ideas the Ravens have drilled into his head, what Jeremy should and shouldn’t do to keep Jean safe on his line, but the only thing he can bear to ask is “How can I help him?”

“Don’t leave him alone,” is all Kevin can say. “Ravens don’t know how to do things by themselves. They never let him.”

“Thank you,” Jeremy says, and to his credit, does not punch a hole in the wall.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the summer is exhausting. Jean never wants to leave the court, it’s kind of like therapy for him, in a roundabout way, and while Jeremy doesn’t encourage him to not go out, he also doesn’t discourage him, either. Exy has always given Jeremy the extra power he’s needed for every day, and Jean provides the best form of that power: competition.

And spite.

“You need to do Raven drills,” Jean tells him in the middle of one of their practices. It’d only taken a couple steps of fancy footwork for him to sidestep Jeremy this time, and he’s getting frustrated. “Is your whole team like this? You’re never going to beat them.”

“World’s greatest cheerleader as always,” Jeremy says with a tired laugh. “The team is under some pretty heavy construction right now, so we’re free to throw in as many ideas as we like,” he admits. “If they’re, you know, admirable.”

“They work,” Jean says. “Renee told me Kevin uses them with the Foxes, and we all know how much you love copying them.”

Jeremy pats Jean on the shoulder. “It was a fair exchange of ideas,” he says, smiling. “And a fair strategy. For when we beat them next year.”

Jean sighs. “Are you always this chipper?”

“Only to mask my grossly-suppressed crippling state of constant anxiety,” Jeremy confesses. Jean’s eyes widen for a second before Jeremy barks out a laugh and checks him into the boards again. He scores. “Work on it, Moreau.”

Jean tackles him onto the floor, and somehow, they only make it out of the scuffle with a couple bruises. He then retaliates by blocking Jeremy several more times before making him agree to incorporating the Raven drills into practices. Ruthless, the man is.

He’s not scared of Jean; all of the backliner’s frustration is stemmed from confusion and a respect for the game, not hatred for Jeremy himself. Jean’s blunt honesty when it comes to the court makes him easy to trust, even though Jeremy has to read between the lines for him off-court. But it’s worth the effort, to have someone like this on his team.

And secretly, Jeremy would have accepted the Raven drills without question. Despite their nonexistent acknowledgement of the human condition, the Ravens did effectively train Exy players in a rational and calculative way, something the Trojans seem to lack. Jeremy doesn’t want to miss the opportunity to fill that gap. He’ll drain Jean of every bit and bite of technique he can manage if Jean lets him.

But he relishes the childish feeling he gets while around Jean’s overt seriousness. He likes the fire of their battles, the enjoyment and hints of raw passion he can feel from Jean’s plays beneath his survival instinct. He’ll try and take every bit of that as well, given the opportunity.

 

* * *

 

With the new school year pressing closer, Jeremy has to prepare himself for a number of things: Jean’s official start with the Trojans, the beginning of the season, and, inevitably, Jeremy’s birthday.

The smartest thing for Jeremy to do is take his day off. He’s a wreck every September, and people understand, though they usually don’t know how _much_ of a wreck he is for the days that surround it. He takes the court late at night and practices until he can’t feel his feet anymore. Eventually, he’d pull down the arm bands he’s put on for that occasion and take refuge in the court stands to think.

Jeremy, admittedly, had stopped resenting his soulmate a long time ago; they became a companion of sorts. He takes the day off to dedicate his time to them. It feels necessary, this effort he gives to give his soulmate the right answer.

It’s not his fault Jean doesn’t feel the same. Hell, a lot of people don’t feel the same as Jeremy. Jeremy has seen people apathetic, even disturbed by their soul marks; people who reject their soulmates, even become unstable at the thought of sharing their heart with another. Jeremy is sad to say he understands why, though even more upset that he can’t bear the thought of losing this companion of his.

But he’s been noticing Jean’s arms more, the blank slates that hold words twice a year, and the scars they bear. He doesn’t know much about Jean’s past, but Jeremy’s seen enough of him that he knows he’s survived long enough to know what companionship means.

Maybe he just wants to understand why Jean doesn’t want it.

“Hey, Jean,” Jeremy says the evening before dorms open up again. They don’t bother with much separation as Jeremy’s old roommate graduated last year, and it’s just simpler to keep Jean where he’s comfortable, if he is that with Jeremy. “You want to go out?”

Jean gives him an unamused look. Jeremy does feel a little guilty; Jean had been pretty engrossed in the book he was reading and it was the most relaxed Jeremy had seen him all week. “Why?”

“Bonding reasons,” Jeremy tells him, to which he receives a flat look. Typical, but Jean bookmarks his book anyway. “You can choose where we eat.”

Jean chooses some vegetarian place he found a couple weeks ago and piles Jeremy with health food and protein. Apparently Jeremy is too small or something because Jean makes him get twice what he wanted to order. They get takeout and eat in the car, not really moving anywhere and complaining to each other about menial things like the quality of boiled eggs, and seagulls.

The distraction is nice. Jeremy’s probably doing it on purpose, but he doesn’t care as long as Jean is following along. He spent three months earning Jean’s respect through Exy and if there’s any time to milk in it, it’s now.

“If I take you to a place I think you’ll like, will you answer something for me?” Jeremy offers once their conversation comes to a lull.

“Is it the beach?” Jean asks. “About eighty percent of the places you like have the word beach in them.”

He’s pretty guilty of that. Jeremy tries not to let the embarrassment show. “I said somewhere _you’d_ like. Spare me, please,” Jeremy scolds him, lightly enough that all Jean does in response is roll his eyes and clean dressing off his fingers. “Why don’t you like the beach?”

“Is that your question?” Jean asks.

“No,” Jeremy scoffs, but takes it as agreement and starts up the car. “It’s about your soulmate.”

There’s a pause before Jean turns to him, a flash in his eye that seems almost protective. Jeremy wants to call him out on it, but it’s gone faster that it had come. “What’s with you and soulmates? How much grief has yours caused you?”

“Enough to make me interested to how much yours has,” Jeremy says. Jean’s expression twitches again, so Jeremy knows he’s getting somewhere. “If they’re not important, you should have no problem telling me about them.”

“Doesn’t give you the right to pry,” Jean challenges. “I said they weren’t important, not that they weren’t troublesome.”

“So important enough to cause you trouble.”

“Fine, let’s go with that.”

“You agree they affect you in some way.”

“Maybe.”

“So you care about them?”

“ _Merde_ —” Jean sits up, annoyed. “Are you always this nosy?”

Jeremy gives him a sheepish smile. “I am a lot of things, Jean. I’m glad you’re figuring that out.” He laughs at Jean’s expression. “Maybe I’m just comfortable knowing more about my teammates.”

“By asking about their soulmates,” Jean says.

Well, no. “Maybe,” Jeremy says. “That was the question by the way.”

“If I…” Jean stops short. His mouth twitches with discomfort, and Jeremy can feel a sudden rush of anxiety wash over him at the thought of Jean shutting down on him. If he might have jumped onto the question too fast, or— “I’ve never even met them.”

Jeremy takes a breath. “Still,” he says, “you’ve known them nearly all your life. They know your secrets, and you know their's. That means something, doesn't it?”

“Does it have to?” Jean asks. He’s not looking at Jeremy anymore, instead finding interest in watching the California scenery roll by. “They don’t know me. This isn’t a relationship like you’re describing it to be, they’re just someone who answers every once in a while.”

A pause. “Did you have a lot of people who let you have an answer?” he asks.

“One question, Knox,” Jean says.

“You still haven’t answered the first.”

Jean looks at Jeremy again, though when Jeremy meets it, it’s not a glare. It’s studying, analytical, like he’s trying to take Jeremy apart. The quietness comes close enough that Jeremy can hear the unsteadiness of Jean’s breathing.

“This costs more than a trip to a place I don’t know about,” Jean finally tells him. “Tell me about yours.”

That takes him by surprise. “Is it a ‘yes’?” Jeremy asks, when he recovers. “It’s a lot to pay for a ‘no’.”

“It’s a ‘Don’t ask stupid questions if you’re not willing to compensate’.”

Jeremy lets the idea sink in. People have asked about his soulmate before, Alvarez, Laila, his mother, Maya, even Millie and his brothers, but he’s never spoken much about them before. They’ve always been a private part of his life, someone only he can touch. Though they’re out there, interacting with hundreds of other people Jeremy probably doesn’t even know, this part of them has always been his, them and their soul marks.

It’s the selfish part of him that wants to keep this all for himself. They always bring out that part of him. But these feelings of his, the privacy, the protectiveness, he feels as if Jean would understand. Maybe even respect it, if their paid each other in secrets too. This may be a fair price. So, “What do you want to know?”

“What gives our unbreakable captain enough grief every year that he’ll badger a transfer for reassurance.” Jeremy gapes at him at that, and Jean shrugs. “I’m not incompetent, you’re not usually this desperate for answers. You want something.”

“I’m trying to come to a decision,” Jeremy corrects.

“Then don’t stall.”

 _If he wants this_ , Jeremy thinks, _then that must mean something, right?_ He taps the steering wheel at a red light, calculates their time to their destination in his head, and takes a breath.

“They’re rude, but honest,” he starts, feeling no other appropriate way to do so. “I guess it’s hard not to be considering the link, but they’re extremely direct about things. Sometimes I feel as if they’re just pushing me around, or at least are really annoyed with me. I didn’t take it very well when I was younger.” _And I still don’t_ , Jeremy doesn’t add. “I didn’t like it when people rejected me.”

“I’m surprised you don’t hate them,” Jean comments, though he gives him a look saying he’d be surprised if Jeremy hated anything.

“I did, for a little while,” Jeremy admits. Jean glances back at him curiously. “I was obsessed with what my answers would mean to them, and I hated that I was spending so much time not knowing if they were okay. I was scared of that unknown.” His smile is gone by now, but his voice is soft. “But I liked it when they answered me. I needed the directness; I used to not be able to do anything until someone pushed me to do it. Maybe I just liked thinking they cared.”

Jean pauses. “You don’t know they really care.”

“I know they understand,” Jeremy says. “I think that’s what I’m grateful for.”

“I didn’t ask what you were grateful for.”

“No, you asked me what caused me grief.” To that, Jeremy can laugh. It’s humorless, if anything. “And I’m saying it’s because I care too much.”

Jean shakes his head at him with dissatisfaction. His annoyance makes Jeremy’s laughter more honest, go which Jean says, “Every time I think I understand what goes on in your head…”

He drifts off, but it warms Jeremy that Jean is making an effort. To accepting his new position, or knowing the team, or to Jeremy himself, it’s progress. Progress that Jean should be proud of. “Is that good enough a payment for you? I don’t pour my heart out to just anyone, you know.”

Jean mutters something in French under his breath, probably cursing Jeremy’s entire person and his future children, but ultimately gives in. There’s something new in his gaze when he looks at Jeremy. It takes Jeremy off guard enough that his masks slips for a second. “You said that you would do anything if it helped me feel like I had a place here. Did you mean that?”

Jeremy perks up. “Yes, why?”

“You’ve been unbreakable since we first met, but you keep telling me that’s not true,” Jean says, gaze stern. “I want to see how you break.”

“That’s…” Jeremy stares, almost forgetting to move through the sudden halt in his thoughts. “I… I don’t understand.”

“I’ve seen the way you looked at these.” Jean runs a hand over his long sleeves and chest, where the scars cross over each other, though there’s a light hesitation in the movement when he motions to the tattoo, Jeremy notices. Trying. “You know I’m damaged. I don’t like facing people I don’t know if I can’t beat.”

 _Riko_. It’s the first thing that pops into Jeremy’s head and the last one he ever wanted to. Riko had been untouchable to Jean. Riko was an unstoppable force out of his reach. Untouchable. Unbreakable. Jean didn’t want to face something like that again.

It takes all of his effort to tear his gaze from Jean’s so he won’t run anyone over. It takes only a moment for Jeremy to recognize their surroundings and pull into the nearest parking lot. The evening had made it easy to hide the shaking in his hands, but the streetlamps forced him to hold them together again.

Jean is watching him.

Jeremy pulls his hands apart.

“Is this what you want?” Jeremy asks, hands up as if to surrender. “Or something else?”

“…I want you to tell me when you’re scared,” Jean tells him. His voice wavers, as if he’s getting used to the fact that Jeremy is listening to him. The _I want_ is rough with disuse. “Don’t make me guess. I’m sick of seeing you smile all the time, it gives me a headache.”

 _Trust him_ , Jeremy translates. _Trust him with your vulnerability_.

“And do I get anything for that?”

“ _M’âme sœur ne signifie rien pour toi,_ ” Jean tells him boldly, “ _mais elle signifie tout pour moi._ ”

Jeremy blinks. “What?”

“It means ‘maybe’,” Jean says. When he pauses, the street lights are bright enough that Jeremy can catch the soft look in his eye. “And _merci_.” And doesn’t wait for Jeremy to respond before stepping out of the car.

 

* * *

 

They spend the rest of the evening feasting on homemade chocolate from Jeremy’s favorite family-owned confectionery. The owners had greeted Jeremy like a lost son and gave Jean a free box for his first time, along with their card and warm wishes for their year. Once they had made it back to the apartment, Jeremy sat with Jean between their moving boxes and passed him his favorites. Jean, of course, likes everything Jeremy hates.

“You have terribly plain taste,” Jean tells him. “You’re lucky they’re all well made.”

A compliment from Jean is worth a thousand from anyone else, so Jeremy can’t help but reward him with a genuine grin before smacking Jean with a pillow.

 

 


	3. Episode 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TROJANS

When the school year starts, Jeremy doesn’t have a lot of time to prepare for another birthday. By September, he still hasn’t had enough time to process and react to all of the negative impact his decisions from semifinals have done to his reputation. Even the professors look at him with a hint of betrayal in their eyes from what he did to the Trojans.

Jeremy’s learned to greet the criticism with a smile, as it does enough to fool himself into thinking it’s all for the better. He doesn’t regret his decision, and the Foxes’ win at Championships proves he’s not crazy, but he’s never felt more abandoned than the sight of the emptying seats in the crowd. The only reason Jeremy has been able to keep it together is through his experience, and his teammates.

“You’ll win them back,” Alvarez tells him, because she’s always been the one who’s looked up to him the most. “You’ll show them they were wrong to turn from you.”

“I trust you,” Laila tells him, because she’s never been the one to cover things up. “I’ll fight all of them if I have to, but it’s only because I trust you, and I care for you, and I know you’ll never do something to hurt our team.”

“If I’m going to choose one way to end, it might as be for Exy, right?” Evan McArthur says between breaths with his back on the floor after another afternoon of full Raven drills. He’s the second best striker on the team after Jeremy, and one of the few he chose for the new line, probably because he would enjoy things like this. “I mean if even the Captain’s going down with his ship, what else is there to lose, right? Follow him down, or whatever.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” defensive dealer Harvey O’Brien says.

“Man, shut the fuck up and cheer up the Captain.” And then they fight until Jeremy is laughing hard enough to get Jean’s attention, who comes over and yells at them to get back to drills.

“You’re working them to death,” Jeremy compliments once on break. Alvarez is shooting Jean the stink eye from across the room, held back only by her dedication to her training and a promise to Jeremy that she wouldn’t bite Jean’s hand off. “They think you’re pretentious and kind of a dick.”

“A funny thing for you to laugh about,” Jean counters, because Jeremy is shaking from it.

“Well they’re mad at me because they think I enjoy it, and I’m laughing because they’re right.” Jeremy gives him a thumbs up. “I’m not strict by nature, and you make a good bad cop. Maybe I just want them to suffer the same way I did all summer.”

“Stop lying, you were enjoying yourself,” Jean says, offended.

“Maybe I enjoy suffering.” Jeremy spins his racquet in his hand, imagining the slow burn of his muscles on the court.

“You don’t enjoy suffering,” Jean tells him. He taps a knuckle against Jeremy’s racquet and jabs a finger to his face. “That wasn’t suffering. You already told me how you suffer.”

Jean’s hand drifts. Jeremy doesn’t move, entranced by the slow-motion movement of Jean’s hand from his face to his forearm. It’s only a second later that he realizes he had forgotten to breathe.

“See?” Jean says, noticing his catch of breath. He’s satisfied that he’s caught Jeremy off-guard. “You don’t like to suffer.”

Jeremy meets Jean’s gaze, the dark look in it that turns Jeremy’s blood to ice. The shadow of experience. It makes Jeremy wonder the true cost of this deal, letting someone as perceptive as Jean see his weaker sides. He wonders if Jean’s noticed the new tension in his shoulders, the way he grips the doorknob a little tighter when he leaves for class, his way he clenches his teeth harder when he hears another Trojan dissed.

He can’t respond to it, and Jean doesn’t wait for him to, leaving to torture some freshmen gossiping in the corner of the court.

“Did Jean say something to you?” Laila asks once she’s switched out, eyes narrowed with concern. She’s seen a lot of Jean from the summer, but it mostly gave her experience in his strictness. “I will make Alvarez fight him.”

“Well, um…” Jeremy bites his lip, thoughtful. “I called myself a masochist, and he got up in my face to deny it, and… there was… something… and I… think he might be right?”

Laila blinks at him. “You… You what?”

“Oh, um, it’s nothing. Good job today!” Jeremy pats his favorite goalkeeper’s shoulder, though he doesn’t leave without fitting on another smile. “And thanks.”

 

* * *

 

Jeremy feels like he’s unraveling. Between the criticism and struggle to rebuild his team, he’s almost regretting the decision he made at the end of the summer.

Maya calls him like she usually does around this time of year, because she couldn’t live with him without seeing what it did to him. It’s always a pleasure to argue with her, so they can just forget about everything else and laugh at how stupid they’re being.

“Take care of yourself, Jers,” she’ll always end with.

And he’d reply with “I always do,” or “As always,” or some other automatic reassurance that he can get past the stress, but this time he only drops a small, “I’ll try.”

 

* * *

 

“Do you want me or Laila to take over training while you’re out?” Alvarez asks him when they’re gearing up for practice on the week of his birthday. She’s been more tense around this time of year ever since she saw him break last year. Jeremy regrets letting her see that every day. “If you get Moreau to fill in, I don’t think the team will ever forgive you.”

“I’m not going to be out.” Alvarez stares at him. She waits for the punchline, so he gives it to her. “I’m not taking this year off.”

“…That’s stupid,” she says. “There is way too much happening this year, especially for the team. For _you_. This entire place has been a complete mess lately, and you’re blaming yourself for all of it.”

“Sooo… I should stay and fix it.” Jeremy hopes the easy humor is enough to free some of tension, but Alvarez looks no less ready to let him off. “

“You’re never ready to hear from them. Question or answer,” Alvarez says. “Or lack of one.” Jeremy stiffens at the call back. “You can’t be a captain on a day when you’re so… so…”

She can’t bring herself to say it, like the word makes it true. Maybe she still has some hope of holding him up as an unbreakable hero, but watching her lose faith in him will only make this worse. “I need to set an example,” he tells her. “Like you said, this is the year we’re going to get our glory back, and I don’t want to waste another minute of it.”

“I thought this was your time,” she said, which is how he knows this is coming from somewhere else entirely. “With them.”

Jeremy takes up his racquet with a tight grip. _Remember the open court. Steady breaths. Focus._

“They always told me to do something worthwhile,” he says. “Nothing’s going to change if I don’t sit around in my room, trying to hang onto myself. It won’t change that I care. Maybe, this year, I can spend the day getting stronger instead.”

“But why?” Alvarez says. “Why now?”

Because…

 

* * *

 

Because there’s someone new on the team.

He’s been beaten and broken beyond repair, but he doesn’t let that change him. He’s blunt and difficult and everything Jeremy’s not, and for some reason Jeremy admires him for that. It’s respect. Not exactly friendship or companionship yet, but nonetheless a desire for reciprocation.

And he’s lost right now. Not kind of, not a little, but absolutely lost. He’s making a risk by trusting by trusting Jeremy to lead the way for him, and if there’s anything Jeremy is scared more of in the world, it’s letting someone down. Especially someone he respects.

He told Jeremy he cares for his soulmate. Someone like him, who has been through hell and deeper, found the words on their arms a place in his heart. This isn’t superficial. Jeremy can look at Jean and know he _understands_.

Jean won’t sit around in fear of his soulmate when there’s more at stake, not with things to prove and a future he never saw coming, and Jeremy, by some twisted sense of pride, doesn’t want to lose to that.

 

* * *

 

But sometimes it doesn’t feel like pride.

Like when he’s awake on the night before his birthday, stuck thinking about his soulmate and the season. He’s been counting off the dates of their future games in his head again, trying to distract himself from what he could possibly be asking. If his soulmate is taking it well.

Jean is shifting on the other side of the room, and Jeremy is desperately hoping it’s not because of his own efforts to keep his anxiety suppressed. It’s been a while since he’s seen Jean sleep; Jeremy is a quick and heavy sleeper while Jean is a night owl. But tonight is different. Tonight nothing can make Jeremy sleep.

But he hears Jean’s breathing.

Specifically, he hears Jean’s _attempts_ at breathing. Jeremy’s mentality is sensitive enough at this point that he can catch every twitch and groan from Jean across the room. When the get louder. More violent.

Jeremy sits up and turns to Jean’s bed. Of course. _Of course_ he never noticed the nightmares. After every dark look and scar he’d seen on Jean, he couldn’t guess that Jean couldn’t protect himself in his sleep?

“Jean,” he says, with pitiful effort. He can’t see for shit, and has to feel for his glasses case somewhere in his bedside stash. “ _Jean._ ”

Jean gasps for breath in his sleep, muttering the only thing he can.

_“Stop.”_

Jeremy shoves his glasses on his face and jumps out of bed. In retrospect, this was never a good idea, but when panicked and recovering from a week’s worth bottled-up anxiety at its worst, Jeremy isn’t doing much thinking at this point. “Jean, wake up!” he demands, and grabs his roommate’s wrists.

Jean’s eyes shoot open at the sudden contact, and for that one frozen second, Jeremy can’t breathe.

Jean’s always looked at him with five shades of contempt. Though sometimes he’d go for shock, sometimes disbelief, confusion, unknowing, and even, rarely, satisfaction. Jeremy’s studied these expressions over and over again during their summer together, and again with his turbulent first weeks with the Trojans. They were always so defiant. He never expected Jean to look at him with _fear_.

Jeremy reels back, slowly, his desperation melting away at the stiffness in Jean’s hands. They can’t move. All Jeremy can think about now is who Jean is seeing when he looks through the dark and sees Jeremy’s face.

Then Jeremy’s thumb brushes off a scar circling Jean’s wrist from beneath his sleeve, and the spell breaks.

Jean gasps when he snaps out of his trance, and before Jeremy can react, he’s shoved back into the bed, one hand driven into the base of his neck and the other pinned to his hand. He hisses in pain when Jean grips harder.

“Tell me,” Jean stammers between breaths. His palms are sweaty, Jeremy can tell. “Tell me who you are.”

Jeremy chokes. “Wha—”

“Right now!” Jean snaps at him, shaking. “Just tell me that you’re not—”

“Jeremy Knox!” Jeremy wheezes out. He uses his free hand to pry at Jean’s grip. “You’re not— ugh— Calm down, no one here is going to hurt you.”

“You don’t know that,” Jean hisses, but his hand loosens so Jeremy can breathe again. “Tell me what you’re scared of.”

Jeremy grunts. “What I’m… Why?”

“You told me you’d tell me when you were scared,” Jean tells him. “I know you’re about to break, and I need to know I’m not the only one. Tell me now.”

He’s noticed, is what Jeremy first thinks. He’s noticed the built up tension and the hesitation. Jeremy can barely make out the outline of Jean’s face in the dark ( _the number on his cheek_ ), but he knows from his voice that whatever he was scared of before is still here. Somewhere, somehow. And he needs someone to understand—

 “Tomorrow,” Jeremy tells him. “Tomorrow’s my birthday.”

Jean’s breath slows, and Jeremy catches his stilled gaze. “Wha… What?”

“Tomorrow I get my answer,” Jeremy says. “And I’m scared of what I’ve asked, and what they’ll tell me, and what I’m doing to them, and…” He stops, not trusting himself to go on.

Jean doesn’t reply to that, merely stuck frozen with shock, but Jeremy can’t think of anything else to say. Not when there’s too much. But there is one that he has to… just _tell_ Jean…

“Right now, I’m scared of you.”

Jeremy stares at him, waiting. But then, the suffocating feeling disappears off Jeremy’s chest.

“I didn’t know,” Jeremy continues. “What I’d been sleeping through.”

“You… didn’t miss much,” Jean says, falsely sarcastic between his breaths. He sits up, easing off of Jeremy. “What does that… you’re…”

“You still dream about that place,” Jeremy says, pushing himself up. “You’re still trapped there, with him.”

“Shut up,” Jean snaps, and like that, he’s found his fire again. “This isn’t…” He grips his arms around each other. “This isn’t something you have to swoop in and fix.”

Jeremy flinches at the wording. Nervous, he fixes his askew glasses. “That’s…”

“Why are you really scared of me?” Jean demands. His hand is hesitantly tight around Jeremy’s wrist, as if he’s not sure what to do with it. His eyes dart from his hand to Jeremy’s shocked face. “Not because of your damaged sense of righteousness or pity. I don’t… Is it because of…”

Jeremy searches Jean’s face for anything that could tell him the right answer to this. Jean’s hand is scalding against his skin. Any form of comprehensive thought is too scrambled for him to grasp. Right now, under Jean’s heavy gaze, there’s nothing he can try for but the truth.

“I don’t know what to do,” Jeremy says. “With you. Everything is changing, and I’m trying… I’m trying to do everything right. And you’re challenging everything I know. For me.” Jeremy clenches his fist Jean has trapped. “And them.”

“…Them. You’re not…” Jean bites back his words. After a moment, his hand drifts, absentmindedly, down Jeremy’s wrist to his forearm. The light touch burns in a way that Jeremy flinches, snapping Jean’s attention back to him and making him drop Jeremy’s arm like a hot iron.

“This isn’t something I can do right now,” Jeremy says, holding his arm back.

“Don’t bother,” Jean says. He’s calmed down now, but in a distant way. Lost. “Go back to bed and sleep in. You should have told me you weren’t going to practice tomorrow.”

“Well, I am,” Jeremy says. Jean looks up so fast and with such intensity that Jeremy almost forgets what to say. “Going. To practice.”

Jean opens his mouth to say something else, but Jeremy stops him.

“We’re not going to have a repeat of last year’s semifinals,” he says. “And I need to spend every second of this school year to live up to that. I told myself that I would be pushed around anymore that’s exactly what I vowed to do when I cut the line. I _need_ to learn how to take the heat. For the team and for myself.”

He pauses, catching sight of where Jean is pulling his sleeves further down his wrists.

“And for you,” Jeremy tells him. “You have something to prove too, don’t you? And you need us.” _And you need me too._

Jean is staring at Jeremy’s left arm.

“…off…”

“What?”

“Get off my bed.” Jean shoves at Jeremy’s shoulder, making him squawk as he tries not to land on his face falling. “This is… Just go back to your own bed and shut up for the rest of the night. If you talk about this to anyone I swear to god I’ll kill you.”

“Killing off the captain,” Jeremy repeats. He feels an amused smile coming on. “Team spirit, Moreau.”

Jean is about to grab him and throw him off the bed himself when Jeremy ducks under his arm and curls back up in his own. He curses outloud when his glasses hit against his face on the pillow, to which Jean sighs from across the room. “It’s impossible to take you seriously with those on.”

Jeremy, by a vow to shut up, throws a pillow across the room. Joke’s on Jean when he throws it back because that was Jeremy’s only pillow.

 

* * *

 

It’s instinct.

It’s instinct that tells Jeremy that he asked if he would be good enough. For the school and for the team. For everyone he needs to impress and lead and fight for. He only knows when he sees his left arm, and usually he’s more appalled at his own stupid questions than his soulmate’s dry critique.

But it’s the answer he gets this year that surprises him.

_Find someone who will tell you that you are._

There’s no anger, no sarcasm, blunt dismissal. For once, his soulmate has given him good advice without a hint of helplessness behind their words, and for once, his birthday makes him feel secure.

 

* * *

 

The training pays off. It’s an uphill battle, facing more than their fair share of losses at the beginning of the season, but the Trojans can only feel themselves getting better. While the emotional turbulence of the starts of the year hasn’t faded, it disappears on the court to make way for the sheer desire to win.

This is where Jeremy shines best, blazing across the court and shooting until he can’t feel his arms. And unsurprisingly, it’s the same for Jean as well.

“Evan,” Jeremy asks McArthur during halftime. It’s the end of October and their success rate is on the rise. They’re pulling through faster than ever. “What do you think of Moreau?”

McArthur stops drowning himself with a water bottle long enough to catch a quick glance of Jean from the other side of the player’s bench. He’s grilling Alvarez about the other team’s tactics, and for once, she’s cooperating with him instead of chewing him out. If Jeremy reads into it hard enough, he could say they’re enjoying themselves, but they look too serious to tell.

“He’s a dick,” McArthur says once he’s swallowed his water. “But y’know, he’s good. He’s kind of like you; he loves the game too much. But, y’know, more dickish.”

“Stop saying dick, dick,” O’Brien says from behind McArthur. “Sportsmanship, god.”

“Very mature, you two,” Jeremy says. McArthur rolls his eyes at Jeremy's hypocrisy. “I mean, you’re not wrong, but we’re all good people here.”

“Man, shut the fuck up.” McArthur tears the cap of his water bottle. He points at Jeremy and glares. “Especially you, Captain. You’ve got that petty sound of favoritism in your laugh whenever he throws one of us into the ground.”

“You do,” O’Brien comments, nodding.

Jeremy shrugs innocently. “He spent all summer beating me into the ground. Maybe I’m just happy you guys are building character.”

McArthur runs a hand over his face. “You sound like a Calvin and Hobbes strip.” He then dumps the remainder of the water bottle over his own head, receiving respective yelps from Jeremy and O’Brien around him. “That’s what you two get! Assholes.”

“Sportsmanship!” Jeremy calls to him when he gets up to leave. In sync, O’Brien is on his feet.

“There’s no sportsmanship with family!” McArthur yells back, and then jogs over to Jean while opening what Jeremy recognizes as O’Brien’s water bottle with a hearty “Hey, Moreau!” before Jean jumps out of the way and McArthur splashes Alvarez with the remainder of the water. The entire team erupts into yelling and laughter, but mostly yelling.

Jeremy sighs, partially embarrassed of his team though mostly amused, and runs over before they’re yelled at again for horsing around during halftime. Jean does nothing to help the situation while Jeremy pulls Alvarez off of McArthur, but Jeremy catches his smirk.

Jeremy smirks back at the end of the game, when McArthur and O’Brien finally catch Jean’s shoulders and yell at him about how. Terras and Alvarez, his fellow backliners, try to include him in their group hug and Alvarez insults with compliments until Jean is left nothing more than a confused shell, vulnerable to Terras’ hefty shoulder clap.

Jeremy catches Jean before he trips over his own feet and sets him upright. “Feeling good?”

“Your team is so _copain-copain_ I think I’m going to throw up,” is all Jean is able to say, but it lacks malice. Jeremy flashes him a grin.

“If it makes you feel any better, if you get the Trojan’s first red card in years, I might give you an angry plaque to compensate,” Jeremy tells him, half warning. Jean scoffs.

“I ruin your reputation, and you buy me a plaque. That about sums up my experience here,” he says.

“It’s your reputation too,” Jeremy reminds him. He winks. “You’re part of the team.”

Jean shoots him a half-hearted glare before abandoning him for the bus. Jeremy is a hundred percent sure Jean can hear his laughter from where Jeremy is bent over himself.

 

* * *

 

The calamity has calmed down enough by Thanksgiving break that Jeremy can breathe easy around the campus now. Not just because of the lack of rumors, but his confidence. His trust in his teammates and the strength he feels from his soulmate, the power he gets after every successful game, feeling the team get stronger and closer.

And there’s a sense of pride he feels as he watches Jean integrate with the team. He’s being civil with Alvarez, not exactly like friends, but crassly for the both of them, like estranged siblings. Olivia Terras is his favorite team member, because she’s no talk, all action, and does whatever Jean says without complaint. McArthur is his least favorite, to no one’s surprise, and Jean will leave the room the moment McArthur bursts in. It’s kind of beautiful and Jeremy is laughing at it every time even as Jean drags him out.

“Going somewhere?” Laila would say when she meets in the hallway, Jean leading a half-breathing Jeremy by the shoulder. There’s an unreadable spark in her eye when she looks over them.

Jean pauses in Laila’s presence. She’s quietly intimidating; a serious, knowing woman who always seems ten years older until she wins the yearly prank war no one wants to admit is a thing yet. Jean doesn’t not complain about her skills as a goalkeeper, but he has significantly less to say to her, which says enough as it is.

“Moreau,” she says, when neither of them answer.

“Dermott,” Jean says.

And then she smirks. At Jean. At Jeremy. Jean pushes Jeremy aside as if he’s ready to fight her for dominance, but she just strides past them with the same smirk etched on her doll-like face.

“I liked her better when she was suspicious of me,” Jean says.

Jeremy chuckles. “She likes being in the know. It’s hard to catch her off guard; I wonder if—” _Alvarez has told her about the soulmate thing_ , oh, god, he was just about to say that outloud.

He glances up at Jean, who is waiting for him to continue as if he has some great weakness he’s about to reveal. Jeremy raises an eyebrow at him.

“Figure it out yourself, Moreau,” Jeremy tells him.

“Someone might tell me anyways,” Jean says. “They love to gossip more than they’re supposed to. Why do they keep on talking to me?”

“Well, you’ve always been our best cheerleader,” Jeremy says, and dodges when Jean tries to hit him.

 

* * *

 

For a little while, Jeremy wonders why Jean is so resistant against the whole idea of bonding with the team. The simplest answer is that it’s not what he thinks is appropriate; Jeremy has met the Ravens a number of times at celebrations and championships, and part of the reason he’s barely noticed Jean is because of how he blended into their machine-like cluster.

Though Jeremy wonders how long it’s been since Jean has known anything akin to friendship. He’d asked Kevin before, who said their friendship had been short and overall debatable. Sad, but not something Jeremy can understand at this time, to his frustration.

Is Jeremy friends with Jean? The thought makes him pause. Jean talks to Jeremy most out of everyone on the team, and though Jeremy is reluctant to admit it, McArthur’s suggestion of blatant favoritism might be a little true. To be honest, he’s never seen anything that would tell him what Jean’s idea of friendship is, so he’s not sure if Jean is just tolerating him or if Jeremy actually bears some significance in his life. He can’t ask; Jean doesn’t have very reliable opinions about his own emotional health.

Though Jeremy eventually gets an idea of it.

“Hey, Knox.” Jeremy pushes away his essay to see Jean looking at him from across the room. There’s a laptop in his lap playing a Bearcats game with his headphones twisted into his fingers. “Are you leaving for Thanksgiving break?”

Jeremy blinks, not used to Jean asking personal questions, especially with no follow-up. It’s actually been something that’s been on his mind; Jean is staying with Quinnie for Thanksgiving break. The suggestion to join Jeremy and his family for break always gets caught in his throat. “Why? Did you need something?”

“A ride on Friday,” Jean says. “To the airport. Dr. Quỳnh Anh is busy that day, and I don’t have a car.”

It probably wouldn’t have mattered whether he had one or not; Jean still has trouble going places alone. He’s usually attached to Jeremy, Coach Rhemann, or one of the other Trojans wherever he goes. Terras and O’Brien share a couple classes with him, and Alvarez always catches him in the hallways since they’re in the same year, though mostly just to tussle. Laila will occasionally join them for lunch, and sometimes McArthur would show up for two seconds before getting abandoned.

He can tell it upsets Jean that he’d have to ask this, which is a surprise. Normally he’d just expect to be joined. Jeremy’s a little happy that Jean is easing out of Raven teachings, though his nervousness is contagious.

“I’ll have to reschedule some plans, but my family lives in-state and I can make the trip easy.” Technically, his family lives in the north, far up in the mountains where nobody from this beach city can find them, but Jean doesn’t need to know that.

“Alright,” Jean says, and then twitches before saying, “Thank you.”

Jeremy stares at him for a second, and then a minute, and can only feel the wide, triumphant grin spread across his face before Jean grabs a pillow and throws it at him.

 

* * *

 

They arrive at the airport at midday. At some point around the end of the ride, Jean started tapping away on his phone and didn’t stop, only speaking once for “How much would you pay me to not get a red card in a Fox match?”

“I would ask you very nicely not the get a red card during a Fox match, and then I would be very disappointed if you do,” Jeremy tell him. “And I’d make the plaque a trophy.”

Jean mutters something in French, shaking his head.

“Don’t get a red card during a Fox match,” Jeremy says. “I like them.”

“Maybe I’ll tell Kevin otherwise, because he worships the ground you walk on,” Jean says, because he’s not discreet about being an asshole and never will be. Jeremy sighs, but doesn’t say anything more, mostly due to the embarrassment of having someone tell him he’s worshipped.

Jeremy only remembers that he forgot to ask Jean why they were here when he’s directed to the gate, but he doesn’t have to wait long for the answer. Renee Walker is easy to spot with her pastel hair and attire sticking out amongst the holiday crowd, and Jean is out in an instant to help her with her things.

“Hello, Jean,” she says with her familiar sweet smile.

Then, by some iconic, slow-motion movement, Jean smiles back. Jeremy has stopped moving. When Jean takes her things, Jeremy has enough consciousness to scramble and unlock the trunk for him while Renee slips into the backseat.

“Hey,” he greets with his own best smile.

“It’s good to see you again, Jeremy,” she says. Her eyes are bright with approval when she sees him. He’s not sure what to make of that. “It might be a little strange to open with this, but I just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for Jean.”

“Oh,” Jeremy says, tongue-tied. He snaps out of it soon enough to catch himself. “Oh! No problem.” He pauses. “Well, that’s a lie. I think he holds the record for most yellow cards, and we aren’t even done with the semester, but some of the team seems to appreciate it, I think he’s influencing them—”

“It was a mistake to let you two in close proximity of each other,” Jean interrupts once he’s back in the passenger’s seat. Renee laughs. “Though I think it might be worse once she starts talking.”

Jeremy gives Renee an expectant look through the rearview mirror. Renee makes a hush motion.

“Why you two?” Jean asks himself. “Out of all people.”

“To be friends with?” Renee asks.

Jean sighs and shakes his head, and then starts catching up with Renee as Jeremy pretends to map out the route to Quinnie’s house. Though he’s really trying to get his thoughts together again. Jean didn’t deny they were friends. The same kind of friend he would smile to at the airport and spend Thanksgiving with.

“Jeremy seems cheery,” Renee comments at some point in their conversation. She says it in the same tone as one’s sister would try to make an excuse out of someone else.

“That’s not a good thing,” Jean tells her, and Jeremy just starts laughing.

 

* * *

 

Doctor Quỳnh Ahn Tran is a therapist Coach Rhemann found for the team only a couple years ago through a Craigslist ad. The team had pressured him to get a new stereo for the lounge after they’d lost a close championship game with the Ravens (a feat, not a lot of people come close with the Ravens at championships), and she’d been selling a fancy retro one not too far away.

Once he found out about her occupation, she’d become the referred team therapist so many times that she just became the go-to counselor for any troubled Trojan. Jeremy himself had been that Trojan more than once, and she knew a good deal of his secrets. He trusts and her patient confidentiality through trust and legality.

(It might have helped that she turned out to be Coach’s soulmate, but that’s another story for another time.)

Jean is taking up most of her time nowadays. She’s half his size, but she talks to him with so much ease that it’s hard to tell which way the power difference goes at times.

“How’s it been here?” Jeremy asks Jean once Quinnie has stolen Renee away to talk about tea. He doesn’t doubt her at all; he trusts her with Jean, she treats him like a son. Most of his worry this year has been taken up by the other party. “You haven’t stepped on her yet, have you?”

“One day you’re going to wake up and realize that your sense of humor is not funny,” Jean tells him, to which Jeremy replies with a bland smile. “She’s been fine.” He stares into his own tea. “It’s… bizarre to talk about things in regular conversation with her.”

“Well…” Jeremy shrugs, because he shares the sentiment. It’s weird being friends with your therapist. “What do you talk about?”

“Baking.” Jean gives Jeremy a flat look at his surprised expression. “It’s a common interest.”

“You… You have an interest in baking?” Jeremy says. “Like, well?”

“I don’t have a lot of recent experience, but I learned a lot about it while I still lived in Marseille,” Jean admits. He’s trying to seem casual about it, but the words come out a lot more slowly than intended.

 _Before he was sold off_ , but Jeremy doesn’t want to go in that direction. It hits hard nonetheless, but it’s enough to sink the feeling in. He gives Jean a warm smile. “Are you making anything for the holidays? I mean, I want to see.”

“It’s just bread,” Jean huffs, except he looks oddly proud of himself. _Bread_ , of all things.

“I’m assure you I have low standards,” Jeremy tells him. “Not that I doubt the magic of Wonder Bread, but people bake it themselves for a reason, right?”

“How is your taste this pitiful?” Jean asks, aghast, because that’s exactly how he reacted to In & Out and Waffle House too.

“At least I’ve seen Star Wars,” Jeremy accuses. Specifically, he’s seen Star Wars about— twenty-three times. Per trilogy marathon. A little less for the prequels but still around that margin. That reminds him of something. “I should stay and make you watch it.”

“I’ll make you bread if you don’t,” Jean tells him, and only wins out because Quinnie doesn’t have the entire boxset and Jeremy didn’t know this would happen and didn’t bring his own. Jean scolds him for being visibly upset about it, though they all get distracted by Quinnie and the wonders of bread baking in no time flat.

Jeremy stays well passed his planned time, and he’ll definitely be spending a good number of hours driving past midnight to get home, but it’s worth it to see Quinnie boss Jean and everyone else around the kitchen. She later gathers them all together and takes Renee’s camera so she can take a picture of all four of them together, and then had Renee take a picture of her with Jean and Jeremy on her phone for herself. Jeremy doesn’t get one, only has been sneaking several in with his phone for the past few hours.

Before he leaves, he notices Jean’s taken his phone out, looking at the photos Quinnie has sent him. He thinks back to Jean that morning, hushed but at ease while tapping away at his phone.

“You can text me too,” he tells Jean, catching him off guard. “I mean, you text Renee a lot, and Quinnie has your number too, but if you ever need to talk, you can text me. Or call.”

Jean stares at him, though thoughtfully, as if that never occurred to him before. “About what, exactly?”

“Bread,” Jeremy says. “I’ll probably send you a lot of photos of my baby sister, so if you don’t like reoccurring pictures of one-year-olds on your phone, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Jean takes a moment to process the thought. When he takes too long, Jeremy takes a picture of his too-serious face and sends it to him. Jean gives him an unamused look when he opens the text, to which Jeremy steps back and looks innocent.

“ _Insondable_ ,” Jean says under his breath, but takes another look at his phone. He scrolls through it, briefly, and something about it gives him a small smile.

Jeremy’s breath catches.

 

* * *

 

“Jeremy, wait!”

A hand catches his arm only halfway down Quinnie’s apartment complex. He’s spun around to meet Renee’s unreadable face. “Renee,” he says, more out of shock than anything. He didn’t even notice her follow him out. “Did you… What are you doing here?”

She releases his arm and softens her expression. “For a picture,” she holds up her phone. “So I can really show off to Kevin that I’m now best friends with his favorite captain.”

Jeremy stares at her with shock, but she’s not kidding. They take their dramatically close selfie and she thanks him greatly by showing him Kevin’s replies to the picture. Most of them are denials about caring, though there are so many of them that Jeremy wonders what Kevin tells his team when Jeremy’s not there to see.

Renee laughs as if she’s done nothing wrong. “Kevin is right about you,” she tells him. “Maybe we’re lucky he has standards about his teams. There’s not much we can agree on, but he has good instinct when it comes to Exy.”

She’s talking about the trade, when Kevin asked him if they would accept the transfer. “We’re not the only ones who would have accepted, especially during that year.”

“But your team is healthy,” she tells him. “Exy is a violent sport in more ways than one; the Foxes collect a lot of troubled kids, but there’s a price to putting them all in the same place.” She shrugs unapologetically. “Though it’s surprising how many soulmates turned up out of that.”

Jeremy stops at the term. “On the team?”

“A Vixen and a backliner,” Renee hints. “And one big surprise that you might find out about later.”

Jeremy stares at her, even as she starts chuckling. “It’s not uncommon for soulmates to find each other in college.”

“Have you found yours?” she asks.

Jeremy can see why she intimidates people now, with such gentle forwardness. “No,” he admits with his hands secure behind his back. “But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Well…” she swallows. “Not much. Curiosity.”

Jeremy laughs. “Are you suggesting something, Ms. Walker? Because I’m not sure if—”

“When is your birthday?”

Jeremy stops. Suddenly, her whole person seems ghostly; the whites of her clothes, the glint of her cross, even the unknown expression in her eyes makes her seem like a different entity. She smiles, soft, and waits for his answer.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she tells him. “I just hope you don’t ask me why.”

“Is that what you want?” he says. “So not just curiosity.”

“Definitely curiosity,” she says. “But with plenty purpose.”

He sighs, seeing no harm. “September 21.”

For a moment, she doesn’t move. Her gaze breaks, to where she’s staring at nowhere in particular. Or maybe she is. Jeremy’s arms, where they’re pressed against his back. She seems to take in all of him, the protective gesture, his tense posture, and a part of Jeremy fears her, the person behind her calm gaze.

She finally looks back up at him. “Don’t go far from this place, Mr. Knox.” She smiles. “You’re too good to leave.”

Jeremy doesn’t understand, but Renee gives him one last thanks before turning back up the stairs. The sun has set by the time he’s reached his car, but he can’t stop thinking that he should have gone against her wishes and asked her _why._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy accidentally breaks the rules so often because nobody tells him anything so they're not allowed to tell him what to do anymore.


	4. Episode 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in this chapter for graphic descriptions of torture and a panic attack. Oops.
> 
> Today's soundtrack is a remix every Mariah Carey track ever released remixed by Sam Smith and 2008 Taylor Swift. Especially that one about one person being all they want for that particular holiday because there is just one thing they need okay that's all you're getting okay cool.

Jean sends him three pictures. One is of Quinnie’s balcony herb garden, which Jean is notably impressed by. Another is obviously taken and sent by Renee, visiting the chocolatier Jeremy had taken Jean to back in the summer, Renee smiling enough for the both of them while Jean merely looks up at the camera while picking at his gourmet choices.

The last is bread, of course. It actually looks better than decent and Jeremy is kind of mad he didn’t stay. He expresses this through emojis and Jean threatens to delete his number, so he guesses that’s a point for Jean. Or Quinnie. Or Renee. He can’t decide.

Though he counts points for himself every time Jean replies to one of his pictures of Maggie. Jeremy is only still winning because Jean agrees that his baby sister is an innocent and is actually pretty cute.

“Who’s that?” Jeremy’s mom asks when she catches Jeremy sending pictures of their Thanksgiving food.

“Teammate,” Jeremy tells her. He smirks when Jean praises his mother for feeding him actual food.

“The one from the summer?” Jeremy’s mom gives a quiet hum when she remembers the first time Jeremy mentioned Jean and why exactly Jeremy was staying with him that break. Her smile is solemn. “I suppose he’s doing well now? If he can make you look like that.”

Jeremy rubs the smugness off his face. “He’s better than he had been,” Jeremy says. “Not the best he can be, but better. I think that counts for something.”

“Is that so?” Martha fixes him with a hopeful gaze. “Do you think he’d want to join us for Christmas?”

“That’s…” He pauses. “…well…”

Jeremy doesn’t know how to respond to that.

 

* * *

 

The last game of the semester is a miracle. It’s brutal and nonstop, blurring one quarter into the next with nothing but tension and the desire to win. Their nine-man lineup hits hard, but their new training schedule this year has done more than prepare them stamina-wise. What should have been an easy win for the Rebels turns into all-out war, challenging all nine Trojans into pulling off their best moves and most detailed strategies.

In the end, it’s a buzzer beater, one no one thought would happen. In a split second, Rebels take down McArthur and steal the ball. They sprint down past their defenses, and the sound of the crowd drowns out in Jeremy’s ears as he watches victory slip through their fingers. It’s slow motion when they shoot, one pass until the goal, Laila dead on her feet—

And everything starts right back up when Jean flies past their defenses with godlike footwork and checks the striker’s target so hard they’re left sprawling. Alvarez snags the ball using some move Jeremy has never even seen before, and before she even looks at him, Jeremy is sprinting down to the Rebel’s goal to take her impossible pass.

He catches it, shoots, and the red glare of the goal light is blinding.

The Trojan’s side of the crowd is on their feet, screaming, as Jeremy’s world speeds up again. He throws off his helmet and looks around. Laila has recovered enough to tackle Alvarez in a tight embrace, crying into her neck out of a mix of stress and awe. McArthur is on the ground, screaming weakly with his hands flopping around in some sort of half-cheer, and Jean is…

Jeremy runs over to help Jean up. He’s already taken his helmet off, so Jeremy can clearly see the pride etched on his face. When he looks up at Jeremy, he’s holding a ghost of a smile.

“This feels different,” he says. “It feels good.”

Jeremy pulls Jean up halfway, because he is too damn tall to hug standing up, and Jeremy really, really needs to hug him right now.

“That was amazing,” Jeremy says into Jean’s neck. Jean is stiff with surprise, but Jeremy only hugs him harder. “That was so damn amazing.”

“Right,” Jean tells him with nothing better to say. He sounds like he’s in shock, and Jeremy knows it’s not from the play. “You realize you pulled off a hat trick, right?”

Jeremy pulls away from him to study his face. “I’m proud of you, you know that?” he tells him. “I’m really, really proud of you.”

Jeremy gives Jean a moment to stare at him, speechless, before he pulls Jean up and slings an arm around his shoulder on their way back to the bench. They’re hounded by the team, and Jeremy takes his time to grab Alvarez as part of the celebratory trio. Laila is still attached to her, eyes bright with admiration.

“That was fucking gorgeous, Moreau!” McArthur yells at Jean above the screaming crowd. “You are a gorgeous man!”

“Keep it in your pants!” O’Brien yells back from somewhere.

“Eat shit, Harvey!”

Jeremy shoves his hand into McArthur’s hair and traps him in a headlock until the younger striker is begging Uncle. He’s stolen away by his teammates after he lets the McArthur go, but gives Jean one last victorious grin before he’s taken.

Jean watches him go. There’s something new in his eyes that Jeremy can only catch in that split second.

Wonder.

 

* * *

 

This year’s winter banquet is held by the Huskies, so Jeremy and Coach have to take all of the Trojans and shove them on a plane so they can mingle with the other teams in Seattle for a weekend. It astounds Jeremy every year just how much supervision thirty college students need just to get out of an airport.

But it’s worth it. Banquets are, admittedly, one of Jeremy’s favorite times of the year. He’s come to like socializing with other Exy teams; there’s a lot to discuss, they respect him, and he gets to talk about Exy all day, so there’s little downside unless you’re in the Foxes and Ravens' district.

He and Alvarez decide to take each other as their dates, something that they’ve agreed on since Alvarez’s awkward first year and following Jeremy’s disastrous first date, though they use it more in name than anything. Jeremy is carted off in seconds to see familiar faces, greet some new captains and coaches, and generally talk to anyone welcoming him. The entire dinner is a rush of confidence that Jeremy can’t get enough of, and he’s on the high for the rest of the night.

Jeremy doesn’t get a lot of time with Jean, whose demand is just as high for obvious reasons. Laila sticks by him for traffic control, while Jean puts on his interview smile and bounces questions off better than Minyard at the Foxes’ first Raven’s game last year.

Jeremy laughs at himself. Maybe he should stop watching that game if he doesn’t want to make such a comparison.

He finally finds Alvarez again once the crowd has quieted down, off to the side in her red dress, dumping champagne down her throat like it’s the end of the world. “I see you have regrets.”

“You’re just mad because they don’t have Hennessy,” she says, staring down into her empty glass as if she were expecting the secrets of the universe and got a flat 42. “Why’d it have to be her?”

She’s talking about her soulmate; nothing else could give her that tone. “You mean, why did they have to be the person you’re in love with?”

“I wasn’t always in love with her, she was such a… such an ass in her first year,” Alvarez says. She must be really drunk if she wasn’t going to fight Jeremy about her current feelings. “Such a big know-it-all. Gave me a headache. Called me a bitch.” The idea of that makes Alvarez laugh. “But now she only does it when I call her babe.”

“Your pet names for each other are endearing,” Jeremy tells her with a light sense of pride. “The two of you gave me twice that headache, you know.”

“That’s ‘cause we’re friends.” Alvarez barks out another laugh and punches Jeremy in the arm. “And you were the uber-perfect senior that made me get along with her. I think I died when you first talked to me. W’s like meeting the President or somethin’… Too perfect.”

Perfect until she caught him getting drunk on his birthday at the practice court. It must be what she’s thinking, because she follows up with, “Captain, why do you think most soulmates fall in love?”

“Well, not all of them do,” he mentions. “Some of them are best friends for life. Some disassociate. Some try long distance companionship. Some of them make great business partners, or even try to kill each other. I guess you’re lucky to not be a part of that latter category.”

“God, you know what I mean.” She swats at Jeremy’s shoulder and then pats his forearm. “This relationship here, that’s something. And when I think about her… What my soulmate has said to me...” She shrugs. “I feel as if there’s nothing to replace what they’ve given me.”

Jeremy’s arm tenses under her grip, so she already knows, even when he slips his smile on, what he’s feeling. “But you were already in love with her before you knew.”

“I wonder,” Alvarez says. “If the universe knew before I did. That’s why they gave us this.”

She stretches her arm out with her fingers spread wide before her. Personally, Jeremy can’t help but think she has a point.

“Is that why you won’t tell her?” Jeremy asks.

“Maybe,” Alvarez says, unsure.

“Well I wonder sometimes, too,” Jeremy says, tapping his arm. “How it would be if we didn’t have these. Here, we always knew we’d find each other. We’re stuck waiting, hoping, but together in some way. But what if we didn’t know? Do you think you’d still have an out?”

Alvarez bites her lip, lowering her hand. She folds her arms over each other, looking down, gaze distant.

“I don’t know,” Alvarez says. “I’ve experienced too much of her to know what I’d do without her.”

“Maybe you should tell her that,” Jeremy says, catching Alvarez’s gaze. “I think she’s waiting for you.”

Alvarez takes in a sharp breath, pensive. Her eyes find Laila’s dark hair from across the gymnasium, where she’s managed to wrap Jean up in idle conversation. They’re like royals with their elegant garb and cool expressions, untouchable. Alvarez looks at Laila like she’s looking at the stars.

“Call her ‘babe’ once and she’ll seem human again,” Jeremy suggests, because he knows the face Laila makes when Alvarez does so.

“Queens don’t say ‘bitch’,” Alvarez agrees, slipping her glass back on the table behind her. She’s about to walk over when she stops and turns back to Jeremy. “Captain.”

“Yes?” Jeremy replies.

“I think they’re waiting for you too,” she tells him, catching him off-guard. A smile crinkles the corners of her eyes. “Nobody in their right mind wouldn’t want to see you.”

She turns back around, but not quick enough that Jeremy doesn’t see her reddened face. He only notices moments later that he’s clutching his arms together, and he can only stand there, wondering.

He notices Jean is free.

 

* * *

 

Jeremy’s seen Jean smile for the cameras before; more than enough from Raven interviews, and more recently for the Trojans. He’s absurdly good at it, which says a lot about how little effort he makes to actually bond with the team, so Jeremy is nevertheless impressed. He’s completely exhausted by the end of it, though, not that he lets it show.

“I guess it’s my turn with you now?” Jeremy says, sliding up next to Jean at their newly-emptied table. Most of the Trojans are up socializing or dancing by now, some tired and hiding away to nap, some off to talk to potential soulmates, most of whom Jeremy can recall by name, and then there’s Jean, here.

“You take my time whenever you want anyway,” Jean tells him.

“I personally think it’s the other way around, but we all have our opinions,” Jeremy tells him with his own TV smile, to which Jean sighs at. Jeremy steals Jean’s untouched glass of champagne and tries it. “I’m surprised you did so well all night. With all of the questions.”

Jean snorts. “This isn’t my first banquet, you know that,” he tells Jeremy. “And not the first time I’ve had to clear up scandals either.”

Jeremy shakes his head. “Well, I’m not sure how happy I should be about how good you are at that, but I’m going to have to appreciate it tonight.” He lifts up Jean’s glass. “To your honorable sense of self-preservation?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Jean tells him. Nothing new, just a reminder. Jeremy doesn’t argue. He doesn’t toast because Jeremy’s left him with nothing to toast with, so Jean just opts for stealing the drink back. “Did you tell Alvarez to talk to Dermott about their soulmates?”

It’s a good thing Jeremy’s not holding the glass anymore, because he would have dropped it. “How did you know about…” And then he remembers Jean’s words from the last time they almost spoke about this. “Who told you? Was it McArthur?”

“Possibly.” It was. “It’s as if everyone on your team is obsessed with them.”

That catches Jeremy’s attention. He feels a little bad about asking this, but he’ll never know unless he tries, so… “Did you not talk about soulmates when you were with the Ravens?”

Jean glances at him, his face holding one big non-reaction. His fingers are tight around the neck of his glass, though. “No,” he says. “We mostly pretended they didn’t exist.”

 _We_ , as if… “Did he have one?” Jeremy asks, knowing Jean would get the implication. “A soulmate.”

And Jean must know something. He’s the only other one besides Kevin who had spent so much time with Riko that he had the possibility of catching something—

“That’s none of your business,” Jean tells him, and Jeremy knows he’s spoken too soon. “He’s dead.”

“Not to you,” Jeremy says, remembering that night he stayed up too late.

Jean sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “What do you want, Knox? Your team is too nice, you’re far too welcoming, and everything about you is…” Jean waves a hand over Jeremy’s everything. “A half-truth.”

Jeremy hums. “Nobody’s ever called me that before.” He grins at Jean. “Should I be flattered?”

“That’s for you to decide, since I won’t elaborate,” Jean tells him, not that Jeremy expected anything less. “Tell me what you’re scared of right now.”

Jeremy pauses, looking for any trace of fear on Jean’s face. He’s not threatened, far from it. In fact, he seems relaxed now, which is rare in itself. “Why?”

“You told me you would when I asked, right?” Jean points out, studying the champagne glass. “You seem like you’ve been thinking about a lot. Why not now?”

Jeremy thinks for a moment, gaze skimming the gymnasium and its clusters of oddball groups. Rivals acting like best friends, significant others taking their partners out to dance, a competitive few goofing off and playing some lawless games. He wonders who’s meeting who tonight, who’s waiting, who’s already found the one they’ve been waiting for.

“Fate,” Jeremy says, missing the alcohol already. “How obvious it is. How it just keeps us stuck here with our expectations and keeps us wondering.” He shakes his head. “Maybe I’ll be wondering for the rest of my life.”

“Hard to imagine why you’d let it. You don’t have anything stopping you,” Jean tells him.

“How do you know?”

“Because I know what it’s like to be trapped,” Jean says, not meeting his eye. “And I know you have all the freedom in the world.”

Jeremy turns to him. “Is that what you think?”

“I know the one thing stopping you from being anything is yourself.”

“Then what’s stopping you?” Jeremy asks. “Now that he’s gone?”

“A ghost,” Jean tells him, and though he knows that’s not a fair answer, he knows it’s enough.

It drops him and Jeremy off into a radio silence, Jean staring into his glass and Jeremy winding his fingers over one another. They’re kept company by each other and the discombobulated noise of the crowd, though Jeremy still feels like he’s a million miles away, the sound a muffled ring in his ears.

The only time he hasn’t regretted his life is when he stopped thinking of reasons to stop himself.

“There’s something else I’m scared about,” Jeremy offers, tapping Jean’s arm. “How you’d react to my family if I brought you home for Winter Break.”

That’s obviously not what Jean had been expecting, because there’s a rare look of surprise on his face. “Excuse me?”

“I have five siblings,” Jeremy explains, quickly enough that he can’t stop himself. “And my mom is horribly friendly. It’s probably a side effect from having children for twenty-four years, but she’s nice.”

He pauses, checking Jean’s interest. Jean is still looking at him in disbelief, but hasn’t run, and well, he might as well go all the way.

“And my dad won’t bother you, and honestly he’ll probably be really awkward, but he means well. And Millie is a monster so you shouldn’t talk to her, and the twins are just a couple of teenagers, so they’re okay when they’re apart, which they rarely are, but…” Jeremy waves his hand. “We live in the mountains. It’s nice. I can take you to the forest if you like trees.” Shit. What is wrong with him. What is he saying, this is not worth it-

“The mountains.” Jeremy nods. “As in… hours and hours up North, the mountains.” Jeremy nods again. “You said you lived close by.”

“No, I said I could make the trip easy,” Jeremy corrects him, trying to ease it off with a smile. “Which I did. With Starbucks. And Waffle House. And their 24-hour schedule.”

“I cannot believe I made you go back there,” Jean curses to himself, horrified by something as menial as _Waffle House_. It’s not like Jeremy would have stopped going anyway. “Your mother’s the one that made all of the food you sent me pictures of, right?”

“The one and only.”

“Then you can tell her she’s the only reason I’m going,” Jean tells Jeremy, and takes a drink out of the champagne. He then looks at it in disgust and then slides it back Jeremy’s way. “And the fact that no one there is stopping you from making stupid decisions.”

Jeremy is probably low on the list of Knoxes whose decisions Jean should be worried about, but Jean just agreed to this seemingly impossible request and he doesn’t need any more incentive not to go.

Jeremy takes one look at the half-empty glass of champagne and then drains it. It’s not Hennessy, but it’ll have to do to prepare himself for the next couple weeks.

 

* * *

 

Jeremy is early on his list of Things That Could Go Wrong for the Winter Break when he makes the split-second decision to ring the doorbell, realize he’d forgotten his bag, and then abandon Jean at the door. He’s still close enough to hear his thirteen year old sister scream, “ _Mom there’s a strange man at the door!_ ”

Jeremy is already sprinting back to the house when Martha comes rushing up to the front door with a wild look in her eye. Jean doesn’t seem sure if he should drop his bags and fight back or if this is all some dream and he’s still asleep in the car.

“Jeremy!” Martha gasps when her son shoves himself between her and his guest. Her smile is bright. Something clatters to the floor when she throws it aside and Jeremy can only assume it’s the bat. “Oh, this must be Jean! Hello, I’m Martha.”

“Good afternoon,” Jean says, snapping out of his shock to be the picture of perfection. Martha is impressed. It’s a questionable start, but Jean hasn’t stolen the car and driven back to USC yet, so it’s an acceptable one, Jeremy guesses.

Jeremy’s eyes wander to Millie, who is standing behind their mother with a look in her eyes that screams unrepentant guilt, even as she mouths to Jeremy _Is that your boyfriend?_

Jeremy blinks in disbelief. _No_ , he mouths back, almost outloud. _What are you talking about?_

Millie looks disappointed, and then quirks and eyebrow at Jean and Martha’s conversation. _French or Canadian?_

 _Stop_ , Jeremy tells her, but Millie still has the worst thirteen-year-old expression of interest on her face. She stalks off, but leaves an air of intent. Jeremy turns to Jean, who is looking at him with bemusement.

“Don’t talk to my sister,” Jeremy warns once his family has disappeared.

“ _Knox_ ,” Jean hisses with urgency.

“You can’t call me that anymore,” Jeremy tells him. “There are eight of us now.”

 

* * *

 

Jeremy’s family reacts exactly how he expects them to. Martha declares Jean, an overly tall yet perfectly weighed human being, too skinny and starts shoving food into his face. The twins try two minutes with Jean before they declare him difficult and start grilling Jeremy for game details. Millie prowls around the house like a jaguar and pops up at various times to ask Jean questions, like if he’s French, how long he’s been French, can he speak French, can he help her with her French homework, etcetera.

Jeremy’s dad, Justin, is tame as promised. Jeremy and Jean join him out on the back porch for coffee and a view of California’s mountain sunset for a little while. Justin is a comfortably quiet soul in a very loud and rambunctious family. Jean seems to identify with him well.

“This is Maggie,” Jean identifies when they stop by her room.

“She’s the worst,” Jeremy tells Jean with all the affection he can muster while his youngest sister wiggles around in his arms. “You want to hold her?”

“Um.” Jean looks down at Maggie. Maggie, understanding that she has this stranger’s attention now, grabs for his sleeve. Jeremy has been around children for so long he’s gotten used to the idea of tiny hands, but they still seem to astound Jean. “I’ll pass.”

“Aahwth,” Maggie blathers.

“She’s upset,” Jeremy tells Jean seriously.

“She’s uncomfortable,” Jean disagrees, and points for Jeremy to put her back where she came from. Jeremy, reluctantly, does.

 “Hey French man,” says a voice from the doorway, and they turn to see Millie, in all of her overdramatic glory, posing on the door frame of Maggie’s room as she holds up a box. “How good are you with tongues?”

Jean looks over at Jeremy, who shrugs. “We can teach you how to play.”

Maya comes home later that day to everyone playing Super Scrabble in the living room, all phones out, with four different dictionaries of different languages, and one lone stranger in the middle of it all, effortlessly putting down the fifth Polish word he’s dared to use.

“I should have stayed in Hyderabad,” she sighs, dropping her bags to the floor, and is inevitably sucked into the game only a few minutes later.

 

* * *

 

Jeremy doesn’t know why he has to apologize for not telling his family that he’s friends with a multilingual human dictionary.

 

* * *

 

Jeremy was worried that bringing Jean to his home was going to be the most stressful part of his winter break, but Jean just seems to _fit_ in the mountains. He’s more than happy to help Martha out with chores, and much to Millie’s regret, he’s a dastardly strict tutor. Jean is always up as early as Jeremy expects him to be, and he usually finds the backliner out on the back porch with his dad watching the sunrise.

It’s easy to tell Jean is still awkward around them, though. He’s never far from Jeremy’s line of sight. Millie will occasionally be able to steal him away for educational purposes, and when he’s alone, Martha will grab Jeremy with a bright smile and shove a tool box in his hands.

“What are you doing on the roof?”

Jeremy flinches at the sudden interruption and finds Jean standing in front of the shed. It’s thirty degrees out and Jean-the-Central-East-Coaster is only wearing one of his dark sweaters while Jeremy can barely stand being out here with two jackets. Maybe he’s been living in LA too long.

“Fixing it,” Jeremy tells him, tossing off a rotting piece of wood from the shed roof. “Mom makes me do it every time I come home because she’s given up on hoping the climate won’t eat it away.”

“You fix the shed every year?” Jean asks.

“Amongst other thing,” Jeremy says, and leans over the edge. “You want to come up? There’s a nice view.”

Jean does join him on the roof for the rest of the afternoon, and while usually Jeremy takes this as his alone time, the company is nice. Jean is quiet and spends his time deep in thought, looking over the trees and occasionally listening to Jeremy explain how construction works.

When he’s done, it’s late, but the roof is secure so Jeremy can just take some time to lie down and trust the shed doesn’t collapse over itself. It’s worth the sight of the warm sunset colors bleeding into the clouds. Sometimes Jeremy would think of this view when looking out of his dorm window.

Jean seems to appreciate it, from what Jeremy’s seen. He’s also surprisingly the one who breaks the silence. “I think I know why you fit your own team so well.”

“How so?”

“This small town,” Jean explains. “There’s less than five thousand people in it; it’s made you care too much. You stress over what people think of you, but otherwise treat everyone like a family member. You’re so familiar with things that you’re scared of the unknown, but you’ve lived in the city long enough that you’ve learned that it’s better to grow out of that. You’re the eldest son, so you’ve been raised thinking being the stronger is a better example, and you like Exy because it makes you feel as if you’re worthy of having that strength. Am I right?”

Jeremy pauses, caught off guard by the Jean’s detailed train of thought. And how much he’s spoken at once. “Have you been talking about me to Quinnie?”

“The better I can read people, the easier it becomes to handle them,” Jean tells him with a shrug. “In a way, I lived in a small town too. I just only needed to care about what two of them thought.” He holds up two fingers, mimicking his words as if to mock himself. “Now that they’re gone, I shouldn’t have to care about anyone.”

“You don’t think they’re gone,” Jeremy says.

“No,” Jean says. “I’m still just pretending.”

Jean doesn’t reply, but he does meet Jeremy’s gaze. It’s the same look he gave Jeremy when they first met, analytical, searching.

Jeremy knows Jean is lying; there are a few things he cares about, like Exy, baking, chocolate stores, tea gardens, healthy eating, winning, survival, Renee Walker, possibly Quinnie, and admittedly, his own soulmate. Though, Jeremy wonders if he’s overestimating or underestimating just how much he knows about Jean and what goes on through his head. He’s about to ask again when they’re interrupted by the slamming of a window.

“ _Jers!_ ” Maya screams from the kitchen window. “We’re going down to the court tomorrow! Does your _petit-ami_ play!?”

“ _Yes!_ ” Jeremy yells back, irritated. “Don’t pretend you don’t know him!”

“I’m going back inside,” Jean tells him, sliding off the roof, probably embarrassed about this entire conversation and everything before it. Jeremy, in turn, follows him down. This afternoon of work has got him thinking too hard.

 

* * *

 

“So,” Maya says, the following evening, after they’d spent the entire afternoon playing lawless Exy in the neighborhood court. She and Jeremy are having a moment on the benches while the twins have finally found an opening with Jean, asking him about techniques and moves he can show off. “Jean Moreau.”

“So you have been paying attention,” Jeremy says.

“Everyone who knows anything about American Exy knows about him,” Maya scoffs. She still sounds like she’s in high school, even at the ripe age of twenty-three. “Tragic, what happened to Moriyama.”

“Hmm,” Jeremy hums instead of agreeing, to which Maya raises an eyebrow. She follows his gaze to where Jean is telling Joel how to throw Jacob off his feet with less force.

“Hey, is that thing about Kevin Day true?” Maya asks him, putting the pieces together. “About his injury not being an accident?”

He gives her a weary smile. “Kevin’s been getting better at standing up for himself, I hear.”

“And when Minyard broke Moriyama’s arm, Neil Josten was about to get hurt too, wasn’t he? Was that true?”

“I’m not a fan of court-related injuries, especially after a game is finished,” Jeremy admits, “but better a broken arm than a body.”

Maya turns back to Jean and lifts a hand to her face. Her thumb brushes her cheek, in the same spot as Jean’s tattoo is on his own face, and then it stays there, fingers enveloping the place where his scar slits past his mouth and eye. “He’s not okay, is he?”

“No,” Jeremy says, right as Joel sends Jacob sprawling. Joel looks right up at Jean with stars in his eyes, and Jean looks proud of himself for a split second before Jacob gets up and tackles Joel to the floor. Jean merely sighs and shakes his head. Jeremy’s expression softens. “But he’s getting better.”

When he turns back to her, Maya is staring at him as if she’s trying to recognize him all over again. Jeremy is about to ask why, but that’s all before she pulls him down into a tight embrace.

“Stop growing up, Jers,” she mumbles into his hair. “What happened to my stupid little brother who couldn’t even try out for the Exy team?”

“He learned a lot,” he tells her, head pressed against her shoulder. “And he got tired of running when there were people that needed him.”

“You crazy kid,” she laughs, and releases him. Her eyes are twinkling when she adds in a low voice, “Is he your soulmate?”

Jeremy freezes, and she mistakenly takes his reaction for admission. She gasps and covers a hand over her mouth, grasping his wrist and reeling back. “No,” Jeremy tells her. “No, no, no, that’s not—”

“Jeremy Knox, as far as I know, I am the only person alive who knows how little you care about gender unless you’ve already—”

“I mean _no_ , he’s not,” he hisses, glancing back so he’s sure they haven’t grabbed anyone attention with their argument. He pauses, and thinks. “I mean, I’ve never…”

“Jers,” Maya says, never breaking her gaze. “You’ve been searching for them for so long. You don’t think they might already be here?”

“But _Jean_?” Jeremy says. “Why—”

“Why not?” she asks. “What’s telling you he’s not?”

There’s a lump in Jeremy’s throat when he tries to respond. Every answer he tries to come up with disappears in an instant, cast away by memories and evidence and _emotions_ that he just can’t seem to get rid of, and he’s…

He can’t say anything.

 

* * *

 

The question isn’t if Jean’s his soulmate, he realizes. That answers itself, clear as day, if Jeremy looks back at Jean’s reactions, Renee’s cryptic answers, and everything he’s felt this year. It’s painfully hard to think about, to consider.

The question is why _Jean_ would be his soulmate. It’s accepting that the feeling he’s been feeling since he was twelve, of waiting and helplessness and desire, could finally be satisfied if he just asked Jean a few simple questions. It’s wondering if it would be a platonic partnership, or if it would be a partnership at all, or if Maya was right.

It’s about knowing that somehow the universe knew he and Jean would meet one day, and they would mean something to each other.

These are the things that keep Jeremy up at night; the comfort of knowing Jean is near, the shift of gravity he feels at the sight of Jean’s smile, the roar in his ears when he faces Jean on the court. He thinks about how he’s been coming to know Jean, piece by piece, from his fears to his hobbies to his askew personality.

He’s a stubborn asshole with an attitude problem and little acknowledgement for others’ feelings, but whether he wants to admit it or not, he’s brilliant and protects his pride, and he can bring out the best in the people when he really tries.

Maybe Jeremy’s just attracted to things that bring out the fighter in him. People who are stubborn enough themselves that they see the value of risk. Jean has never been able to take those risks, and he wonders why Jeremy doesn’t when he’s always been able to.

Jeremy thinks about this, hoping he’s come to a contradiction somewhere, but everything brings him back to the person on his arms.

There’s a tightness in his chest. Anxiousness.

 

* * *

 

He’s in the attic.

Jeremy doesn’t know what time it is, it’s hard to tell when he’s trying to focus on breathing. He’s not having a panic attack, or at least, he’s trying not to. It’s been so long, and he’s built so much, but this feeling never disappears. Thin breath, shaking hands, curled up between the boxes of this attic and hoping the sun never rises. He’s counting under his breath, trying to calm himself, one hand in his hair and the other a tight fist.

There’s a blanket around his shoulders, but he’s pushed it aside so he can look at his bare arm. He remembers his first soul mark, a young voice asking if their parents would ever love them. From then on, it’s always been about them. Him and his soulmate, exchanging fears and secrets.

Jeremy had paid a lot to just get Jean to admit he cared about his soulmate. He wonders if it’s because Jean feels the same about this valued time with his soulmate. If he’d gotten so used to waiting for his soulmate that he couldn’t comprehend the feeling of finding them.

He remembers the look Jean gave him when Jeremy told him his birthday. The denial in his voice.

A shadow falls over Jeremy’s arm. He doesn’t look up, but from the hesitation, he can tell Jean is here. Jeremy takes a little time to breathe, glancing up to meet the confusion in Jean’s eyes. Worried Jean would take his non-response as rejection, Jeremy slides over to make room for Jean between the boxes. Miraculously, he takes the invitation.

They sit like that for a little while, Jeremy’s arms bare before him and Jean studying the cramped space. He has an unusually cold presence; cold skin, cold gazes, but nonetheless welcome. Just another one of the stranger parts of Jean Moreau.

“What are you doing here?” Jeremy finally says, when he’s stared one moment too long at Jean’s twined hands.

“I was talking to your mother,” Jean explains to him.

“This late?”

“I don’t sleep much,” Jean explains to him, and Jeremy remembers that one painful night. “She happened to be up too.” His hands tighten around each other. “She told me that she was thinking about me.”

“Sounds like her,” Jeremy says. “What did she tell you?”

“That I was welcome here,” Jean says. He laughs to himself, as if he’s still expecting a punchline. “And that I didn’t have to be so nervous around here. And then she saw my scars.” He tugs at his sleeves so that his wrists show, and then taps the tattoo on his cheek, a thumb brushing the scar crossing past it. “And looked at these. And then she started crying. I don’t get it.”

“You’re pretty of insensitive, you know that?” Jeremy scolds him weakly.

“And yet,” Jean says, looking at him.

“And yet,” Jeremy agrees.

“We heard you open the attic door,” Jean tells him. “She was about to come up, but she told me that I might want to check on you instead. That’s why I’m here.”

“Thanks,” Jeremy says.

“I don’t think this warrants a ‘thanks’ when I was just told to come here.”

“You stayed with me,” Jeremy tells him. He turns to meet Jean’s gaze, a weary smile on his lips. “I think you’re misinterpreting yourself again, Moreau.”

Jean doesn’t reply, but he does notice the stiffness in Jeremy’s arms from where they’re pressed against one another.

“What are you scared of?” Jean asks, slowly, as if it’s just a passing thought.

“You,” Jeremy tells him with a hollow laugh. “I think.”

Jean’s mouth tightens. At the answer, at the implication, at whatever idea has popped in his head, Jeremy doesn’t know. But whatever it does, it makes Jean take the blanket from over Jeremy’s shoulders and throw it over Jeremy’s head. Jeremy freezes at the sudden darkness, but doesn’t move.

“Then stop looking at me,” Jean tells him, a tired sigh in his voice. His hand is curled in a fist at the base of Jeremy’s neck, keeping him down.

“What if I don’t, after this?”

“Shut up and worry about that later.”

Jeremy lets out a long, well-deserved breath, and presses his forehead into his knees. He accepts Jean’s awkward form of comfort, and trusts that it’s honest.

_What does he know?_

 

* * *

 

“A sweater,” Jean says, looking at his pile.

“A sweater, a scarf, a hat, and…” Jeremy holds up Jean’s Christmas card. “A $25 Barnes and Nobles gift card.”

“Are these thumb holes?” Jean turns over a bright red sweater in his hands, and Martha beams at him. Jean’s face twitches as if he’s not sure whether to put on his obnoxiously polite face or just continue on with confused awe. “I doubt there’s a Barnes and Nobles around here.”

“That one was from me, I bought that.” Maya points to herself from where she’s halfway into her own sweater. She pulls her head free and waves to Jeremy. “I went to Target and got it when Jers made me drive him to Exites.”

Jean opens his mouth, and then looks over at the unopened box, wrapped in a manner so sloppy that it could only be one thing. He glares at Jeremy. “Stop buying me things.”

“You needed a new racquet in our colors anyways,” Jeremy tells him. “And this is Christmas, you’re not allowed to complain about what I buy you.”

“It’s not like I got you anything.”

“Why?” Millie asks, because she’s thirteen and has no filter. Jeremy’s breath catches in his throat. “Too busy with your Exy stuff?”

“I didn’t think I’d have to; I’ve never celebrated Christmas like this before,” Jean tells them, and the entire family falls silent.

Martha is the easiest to catch, because she’s on the brink of tears again and is trying to distract herself from a desire to hug Jean by clutching Maggie. Millie’s jaw shuts when she notices the tension in the room, and lets out a small “oh” while sinking deep into the couch, trying to disappear. Joel punches her shoulder as Jacob mutters a “Nice going, Mils.”

Maya bites her lip and glances at Jeremy. Jeremy looks at Jean expectantly, waving his hands.

“I…” Jean swallows. “I guess I can make something. Bake, I mean.” The idea seems to catch on, because his eyebrows crease at the sight of Jeremy and he continues with, “Someone has to teach your son about decent food.”

“Yes!” Maya yells, shattering the tense atmosphere. “He is disgusting!”

“You know what, screw you guys, I’m choosing what we watch for Christmas movie night,” Jeremy tells all of them, and there’s a chorus of groans all around, along with a couple weak ‘no’s. “Shut up! He hasn’t seen them yet!”

“Seen wha— Oh.” Jean’s unimpressed expression appears again. He stands up. “I’m going to start making food.”

“I’ll help,” Martha says, jumping to her feet.

“Make a lot!” Jeremy calls after them. “We’re watching six movies tonight!”

“The first three _only_ or I swear I will order a ticket back to India tonight, Jers.”

 

* * *

 

“I suppose I can see why you like them,” Jean admits. They’re out in the woods on the outskirts of the neighborhood, where Jeremy has taken them for their last day up in the mountains. They’re not national-park worthy woods, so there’s a lot of hopping and ducking involved as they try not to get caught in the bramble. “I just don’t understand your obsession with them.”

“They’re good movies,” Jeremy tells him for the fiftieth time, leading Jean down a steep slope. It’s getting late now, but this place is better at night, so it’s worth it. “And they’d kept me company back when I didn’t know how to talk to people, so there’s something nostalgic in that. Maybe it was the idea of going an action-packed space adventure instead of being here.”

“I think I was more focused on the political drama and fathers cutting off their own son’s arms,” Jean tells him. “I mean, that’s what it was about.”

“Oh, just wait until you watch the prequels,” Jeremy tells him. “And don’t make fun of me. You have food, I have movies. We’re already different in every other way, so this shouldn’t be a surprise.” He points to a stray bush. “Watch out for that.”

“Do you even know where you’re going?” Jean asks, noticing the darkening sky. “You realize we’re leaving in the morning, right?”

“Of course I do, I did spend the first eighteen years of my life here,” Jeremy assures him. “Besides, for someone who’d have to drive so far down the mountains to see the beach, a lake is the next best thing.”

Jean’s footsteps stop from behind him. Jeremy turns, and Jean is staring at him, spattered with colors by the winter sunset through the trees. He recognizes that expression, unfortunately. It’s just been so long since he’s seen it.

And then he remembers.

“You don’t like lakes either,” Jeremy says. “Not just beaches.”

“I try to avoid them,” Jean tells him through clenched teeth.

“That’s something that’s always bothered me,” Jeremy tells him, taking a step forward. “You’re from Marseille, but you’re afraid of the beach.”

“It’s not something I like to talk about.”

“Can I still ask why?”

Jean meets his gaze, defensive. “You’ve asked me before,” he reminds him. “Why do you want to know?”

“Maybe I want to know what scares you too,” Jeremy says to him.

“You know what scares me,” Jean replies.

“I’ve seen you scared,” Jeremy tells him. “I have an idea, sometimes, and I’ve seen the way you act like it doesn’t matter. I’ve seen your scars, and I’ve seen you dance around questions so well you could go pro just by talking to the camera. But I still feel like I don’t know you. You’ve never told me.” He stops just a couple spaces before Jean, hands in his pockets to keep his hands steady. “That’s not fair, is it?”

“Since when has this been about fairness?” Jean challenges, glaring.

“It’s always been about fairness.” Jeremy gives him a fleeting smile, pointing between them. “You and me. The team. Everything about this place. Giving and taking, right?”

Jean opens his mouth to say something, but he slowly closes it. His arms wrap around each other, clutching at the sleeves. Jeremy’s breath hitches at the motion as he realizes what Jean is thinking about.

He catches Jean’s gaze again. It’s hardened, and there’s an edge in his voice as he recounts.

“You want to know?” Jean says. “You really want to know?”

Jean takes a step forward so that there’s only a breath between then. He’s tall enough that he looms over Jeremy, blocking out the remainder of the sun so that there is no light in his expression. Jeremy holds his ground, breath hitched.

“Sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night handcuffed to my bed.” He motions to his face, hand drifting over his scar and tattoo. “He’d put a towel over my face, and I’d know, but I’d never be ready. There’d be someone to hold me down if I thrashed too much, because I always did. I think he liked that.”

“And then they’d start drowning me.” Jean takes in a breath, remembering the feeling. “It’s impressive, how simple it was. Trapped under a cloth as he poured water over it. It was just… I couldn’t breathe. Not just once, over and over again. I just had to find a way to breathe, and he would keep taking that away from me, as if he was reminding me of my place.”

“I was just waiting for it to end, for _everything_ to end, but it wouldn’t. That’s what makes it hard to sleep. Though sometimes he’d do it spontaneously, if he were upset enough. Maybe he liked it because the only scar he’d leave me was up here.” He taps a finger to his temple. “Where they can’t see.”

It takes all of his energy for Jeremy to make his mouth work again, but the only thing he can manage is, “How long?”

“Enough.”

Jean looks away, and then past Jeremy, to the direction of the lake they never found.

“I used to love it, the beach,” he says. “It was my favorite part of Marseille. A gorgeous ocean, the sound of the waves on white rocks, something I would think about it whenever I missed home.”

“I guess you could say it was nostalgic for me.” He sighs, expression falling. “It used to be such a vivid memory, and now I can barely imagine it.”

That was all Jeremy wanted to know. This wasn’t how he wanted to hear it. “I didn’t realize,” he says.

“You do now.” Jean looks up at him, daring for him to protest. “You asked, didn’t you?”

He did. Him not hearing wouldn’t change that it had happened, Jeremy knew that, but that didn’t mean he wished it could. He looks at Jean’s arms, protectively tight around each other. He wonders if this is something new, or if Jean always held his soulmate close when he needed a little extra strength.

“It’s what I wanted,” he assures.

“This,” Jean motions to himself, “isn’t what you want.”

“This is what I agreed to when I told Kevin I would take you in,” Jeremy tells him, voice hard. “If it’s all or none of you, I’ll take everything, soulmates or not.”

Jean freezes, his breath coming to an audible stop. “What?”

“Your birthday is March third, isn’t it?” Jeremy asks, because either this is real, or it isn’t, and he hasn’t been waiting all his life to give this up now. He’s struggling to breathe, but this nervousness, this elation isn’t bad. “And you know. You know that it’s you, it’s always been—”

“Stop,” Jean says.

Jeremy shuts up, because he expects Jean to contradict him, but Jean doesn’t say anything. His eyes are wide with fear, not unlike his reaction to the lake, or his nightmares, but not the same either. He’s staring at Jeremy as though he’s untouchable.

Jeremy’s gaze softens. “If you’re—”

“Just stop,” Jean stops him again. He’s breathing heavy. “This isn’t real.”

Jeremy narrows his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“None of this is real,” Jean tells him, waving to him. “It’s never _felt_ real, not you, not this team, or your family or anything that’s happened since I left, okay? And don’t—” He shoves a finger in Jeremy’s face when he tries to speak. “—try to tell me it is. I won’t believe you, but I’ll want to, and I’ll get caught up in it and the last time I got caught up in a dream was when I started hoping for _you_. When you told me to look for you.”

“When did I—”

Jeremy’s eyes catch his arm. There are scars hidden beneath his winter jacket, on an arm that’s held bruises and blood and answers. Jeremy’s answers. To Jean.

“I refuse,” Jean tells him. “To let myself get caught up in that dream again. Don’t make it real.”

Jeremy stares at him. He expects himself to reel back, to apologize, but every time he’s looked at Jean, there’s been a fire in his stomach.

This was someone he couldn’t afford to back down to. He’s spent all his life trying to be good enough for his soulmate, and he’s not going to stop trying to be good enough for Jean.

Because this is what he’s been preparing himself for; this man before him, cracked and broken in all the wrong places, Jeremy will make a place for him.

“No,” Jeremy tells him, unwavering.

Jean’s eyes flare. “You don’t—”

“Try me, Moreau,” Jeremy hisses, pushing Jean’s hand out of his face. His fingers lingered for a moment, before he wrapped them around Jean’s wrist, covering his scar and all he could. “Try to be my soulmate, and I’ll make you understand what fairness is.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	5. Episode 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RESOLUTIONS. Significantly more schmoop. Lots of schmoop. I think I threw up a little in my mouth from that. 
> 
> It's over. It's over??? Holyfuck guys you stayed this long??? It's been like five parts!!! What are you doing here??? Are you waiting for them to kiss or something??? Go!!! Get on with it !!!
> 
> Note: I'm sorry if you like the Cardinals I have nothing against them they just happened to be there. Uh. Go Cardinals?

In retrospect, it’s glaringly obvious his soulmate is Jean. When Jeremy compares the voice he hears when he reads his soul marks, there’s absolutely no difference.

“McArthur, quit being a child and get back on the Away field before you injure someone.”

McArthur flips Jean off, but rolls back onto his feet anyway. “This is because the Cardinals are in our block, alright?” McArthur points between him and Jean. “This is because the Cardinals are in our block, and they’ve been waiting years to take our place at finals and think they can take us out just because we’ve got nine people on our line. Well fuck them, they’re not getting trained by Senator Dickraven and the Jeanettes with a nine-player line, so if I’m going to bust my ass for you, it’s only because—”

“McArthur,” Jean hisses. “If you care, _get back to the Away field_.” He swerves around to Jeremy behind him. “And _you_ can stop laughing and start getting your team in order.”

“I’m going easy on him,” Jeremy says between breaths, waiting for his laughter to die down because _Senator Dickraven_. “He’s usually not here on his birthday.”

Jean turns back to McArthur, who is standing before him with a proud grin. “Sing for me.”

“I dislike you,” Jean tells him very seriously. “But I can’t tell Jeremy to take you off the line because you can score eight in a row against Laila, are the fastest player on our line, and the only other striker with enough stamina to play a full game. So believe me that when I want you to get back on the Court and do something, I am going against every bone in my body that tells me to physically throw you back on the bench and simultaneously punch you in the throat, _so help me god_.”

McArthur stares speechless at Jean for a full minute before stepping back, turning to Jeremy with wide eyes and stage whispering, “He called me talented.” McArthur grins. “It’s is the most he’s ever spoken to me. This is the best birthday present ever.”

“McArthur,” Jeremy says with a supportive smile. “Get back on the court or I’ll let him punch you in the throat.”

“I love my dads,” McArthur says to himself. He then jumps back into gear and slaps an angry Jean on the shoulder. “Thanks for setting impossible standards for me to live up to, man! Time to go wreck Alvy.” He turns his heel and dashes off. “Hey Alvarez! French Dad said it’s time I slam your ass down _harder_!”

“That’s what she said!” O’Brien yells from somewhere.

“I hate your team,” Jean tells Jeremy through clenched teeth.

“You would,” Jeremy tells him. “But you once said Exy was the only thing worthwhile, and we’re good at Exy, so you can’t hate us.”

Jean raises an eyebrow at him. “When did I say that?”

“About seven years ago,” Jeremy says, now fit with a genuine grin. When Jean doesn’t reply, Jeremy pats his arm. “Guess that’s team spirit.” And then he jogs off to the Home side.

 

* * *

 

There is only one thing in the world that can make Jeremy and Jean put aside knowing they’re each other’s soulmates long enough to focus, and that’s Exy. Championships are only months away, and Jeremy refuses to not take his captaincy any less seriously this year. If anything, he can’t afford to stop improving. Jean knows this; he supports it.

That doesn’t make this any less awkward. Though as promised, Jean is trying to acknowledge that the whole soulmate thing exists. Mostly because Jeremy reminds him that it does pretty often.

“So Renee told me that there were some surprise soulmates on the Foxes,” Jeremy mentions while he and Jean are looking over a Huskies game together. They’re on opposite ends of Jean’s bed with papers strewn out between them as a barrier of sorts. “What do you know about that?”

Jean’s nose scrunches up with displeasure. He must know something. “Why do you want to know?”

“I’ve never found my soulmate before,” Jeremy tells him. “I need some references that aren’t lesbians.” He pauses from memorizing statistics. “Unless they are lesbians. Are they lesbians?”

“They aren’t,” Jean growls, visibly annoyed. “And you don’t need a reference. There is no guidebook to soulmates that you have to follow. They just are.”

Jeremy still can’t seem to get out that _yes, there are those casual soulmates, but I want to be the kind of soulmates that do more than that because I find myself really attracted to you._ “You’d think we have to sign something. So we can like, visit each other in the hospital or something.”

“They stopped doing that after that one guy used that to try and kill his comatose soulmate,” Jean reminds him immediately. He keeps his eyes on the laptop before them, but shoots the occasional death glare at Jeremy next to him. “Which I might do, you never know.”

“Well, you once told me that nothing lasts.” Jeremy shrugs. “And I still disagree as much as I did six years ago.”

“And you once told me that I don’t owe anyone anything, so you can keep your opinions to yourself.”

Jeremy smirks at him, but Jean refuses to look away from the laptop. The Huskies game ends, and Jeremy files away the rest of the statistics sheets so he can bring up his favorite 13-to-150 game. Jean’s mouth turns into a flat line, because of course he hates this game, being there and all. Jeremy nudges Jean’s shoulder with his.

“You love me,” Jeremy says, a little less platonically than implied.

Jean doesn’t reply immediately, though he doesn’t move away when Jeremy slides next to him, not unlike they were in the attic. “I don’t know why you try for me.”

Jeremy smiles and sets the laptop on his knees. “I have to believe enough for the both of us, didn’t you hear?”

 

* * *

 

The Cardinals are assholes. Everyone knows this, it’s kind of a media thing. But the Trojans, as their Western-district rivals, know this especially well. The Cardinal’s captain also happens to be an uber Ravens’ fanboy and approaches Jeremy looking two seconds away from throwing him across the court so he can throw himself at Jean’s feet.

“ _Knox_ ,” Jason Hendrickson says.

“It’s good to see you again, Jason,” Jeremy greets with twice as much enthusiasm, thrusting his hand forward. Jean actually jumps at how joyful Jeremy is being. “I hope we can have a fair game.”

Hendrickson glances at Jean, who assess Hendrickson’s physique favorably, but otherwise seems unimpressed. He doesn’t greet him. Alvarez creeps into the space between Jean and Jeremy like a guard dog, ready to chew someone’s hand off if they get close to either of them.

“Are you so desperate after last year’s disaster that you’re stealing Ravens now?” Hendrickson scoffs. “Does the fear of leaving such a pathetic legacy affect you so deeply?”

“A little,” Jeremy tells him and grins. “I’m sure you can’t blame me for taking the opportunity to recruit such a valuable player. Is that cheating? I didn’t know there was a rule against it.”

“There isn’t,” Laila adds, just because.

“Then I guess we’re all good.” Jeremy laughs. The Jean of first semester would have been dumbfounded, but now he’s only annoyed thanks to months of experience. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Jason. You’re not an easy team to beat, which is why I seem a little wired right now. I love going up against tough teams. It would be disrespectful to bring last year’s game to you when I know I could so much better.”

Hendrickson’s expression twitches. “You have such little faith in your team that you need to take from the best to get there? We could have done that.”

Jeremy’s smile falls for a split second, replacing itself with an intense look. Hearing Jean being treated like an object his high on his low tolerance list, and Jeremy can tolerate a lot of things. There’s a noise from next to him, and it’s surprisingly the sound of Alvarez holding Jean back. Hendrickson flinches the moment Jeremy’s smile returns.

“There’s something that confuses me,” Jeremy says. “You seem to mistakenly be under the impression that you’re asking for a Raven.”

“Changing the colors he wears doesn’t change his roots,” Hendrickson says.

“Changing the colors he wears changes who he fights for,” Jeremy says. He can feel Jean’s eyes on him, now that he’s got his attention. “And right now, he fights for the Trojans. Not a surprising concept, since he is one.”

Hendrickson’s jaw clenches. He glares down at Jeremy with a dark look, reminding Jeremy of the mocking looks he’s felt in the hallways. At high school. At college. “And you seem to be mistakenly under the impression that you’ll ever be good enough for him.”

Jeremy’s smiles falters. He manages to catch it, saving himself with a bright expression, but Hendrickson must have been training for this, because he’s hitting all of Jeremy’s weak points. Jeremy didn’t learn how to be a villain; he learned how to be the better man, but right now, wishes he had the guts to take the punch waiting to happen.

“Are we done?” Jean interrupts. He’s relaxed, by some miraculous force, but all of that fight seems to have melted down to impatience. “We should be doing drills. I still don’t know what we’re doing here.”

“It’s courteous to greet the other team’s captain,” Jeremy puts.

“This is a captain?” Jean says. He raises an eyebrow for no reason at all, feigning confusion. “I didn’t realize.”

Jeremy is so shocked by Jean’s insult that he doesn’t remember to put in his usual, “Jean, we’re supposed to be good people.” Instead, he lets Alvarez’s “Oh, _shit_ ,” slide, and watches Hendrickson turn ghost white and walk away. When the other captain is gone, Jean scowls.

“That was unpleasant.” Jeremy laughs despite himself. “I didn’t even get to tell him to prove himself on the court.”

“Don’t make it sound like he’d have a chance,” Jean says.

“I like to give all of my opponents an equal amount of respect before I take their shiny trophies,” Jeremy admits. “It makes it fun for the whole family.”

He says it so gently that it’s hard to tell the burning intent behind it, but Jean catches it. And whatever he feels, it makes him smirk, even for just a second.

 

* * *

 

When all is done and over, Jean looks down at Hendrickson from where he checked him into the floor. It’s equally fair as it is satisfying, and Jeremy has never felt so good about winning so cleanly before.

He holds out a hand like he always does and puts on his brightest smile. It’s a sight Hendrickson has seen a million times throughout their years of rivalry, and the flash of recognition in his eyes is enough of a trophy for Jeremy.

“Thanks for the game,” he says, with a sharp edge that he can't erase. “It was an honor playing with you.”

And then consequently gets punched in the face.

The fight lasts about five minutes and involves at least nine other people, starting with Alvarez, who had torn Hendrickson off of Jeremy with a deadly scream. Jeremy doesn’t remember when Jean came in, but he’s the one to pull Jeremy out of the fray, and Jeremy notices later that Jean’s scabbing knuckles match perfectly with the black eye Hendrickson had walked off with.

“This is why you need to watch who you give your good will to,” Jean says, turning Jeremy’s head to examine his split lip when they’re alone in the locker room. The rest of the team is in a frenzy outside, mostly fighting off the media and other Cardinals, and they don’t seem to have acknowledged Jean and Jeremy’s absence yet. “You’re not everyone’s favorite person.”

“I feel less nervous when I know I’m not as bad as they are.” Jeremy assures. “This feels like a win to me.”

Jean meets his eyes for a moment, trying to detect a hint of regret in Jeremy’s eyes, and then shakes his head when he doesn’t find any. “How can I have someone like you for a…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but Jeremy can hear the rest of it clear as day. He stares back at Jean with his breath caught in his throat, but Jean’s eyes are fixed on Jeremy’s mouth. He seems to realize his thumb is still pressed against Jeremy’s lip, and slowly draws it away.

That’s the hand that Jean used to defend Jeremy. Jeremy wants to take it and run his fingers over the darkening bruises on his knuckles, imagining the look on Hendrickson’s face when Jean’s fist connected with it.

“What do you think?” Jeremy asks, more for himself than anything. “Am I good enough for you?”

Jean stares at him. His face twists into a number of expressions, the most Jeremy’s ever seen him use at once. Confusion, disbelief, realization, regret, and something else. Determination.

“We can’t both ask ourselves that,” Jean says, voice quiet. “So don’t think you have to ask at all.”

The scene ends when the rest of the team finally makes it in, and they jump apart. Jean finds a distraction in bickering with an equally pissed-off Alvarez, and Jeremy immediately goes over to Coach Rhemann to fill him in. It’s the best he can do for now, when he can barely pay attention to own thoughts.

 

* * *

 

They don’t stop there, not when there’s so much pride to give up. Each time they win crowd gets bigger and wilder. Even if they don’t acknowledge what happened before, they’re realizing what the Trojans are becoming. This year is their most strenuous, but also their strongest.

Jeremy can feel the effects of the line cut now. Every time he’s on the court, he’s stalling less and scoring more. Each sound of the buzzer adds fuel to the fire in him. Alvarez has gone from quick-minded backliner to taking down opponents twice her size. He’s never seen Laila more alert, McArthur is finally checking people, and Jean is _listening_ to people.

Jeremy still remembers the last time Jean had looked at him like he wanted him at a game, before the banquet. Jeremy’s gotten better at catching it, after noticing the first time. His eyes immediately wander to Jean at every final buzzer as he tries to calm the storm in his chest, unable to thing straight for those dire moments as he finds Jean, a light in his eyes, always getting brighter with every win.

And he realizes after some time that it’s both of them, looking for each other across the sea of people, always finding each other when it’s all died down. For Jeremy it’s a light touch of the wrist to get Jean’s attention, or even a fast embrace after a tight game. For Jean it’s a tap on the shoulder, something like a smile on his face, but not quite, as he holds Jeremy’s gaze.

Once they pass preliminaries, Jeremy is on such a high of pride and confidence that once the crowd clears, he grabs Jean by the sleeves and spins him around to meet his gaze. He can feel the breath leave Jean’s chest, eyes wide when Jeremy shoves his face up toward Jean’s, adrenalin searing through his veins.

“You,” Jeremy says, breathing heavy. “You were incredible.”

“Championships,” Jean says dumbly, not looking away from Jeremy’s face. “That’s— It’s—”

“Right,” Jeremy says. The sudden rise in tension brings him back down to earth. “Championships.” He releases Jean’s sleeves. And then it dawns on him. “ _Championships_ , oh my god, we made it to finals. Holy shit.”

He’s freaking out. He shouldn’t be, the Trojans aren’t strangers to that final court, but last year he thought they’d never be allowed there again with the stunts he made them pull off. All of the rumors that said they would fail because of him, that they wouldn’t even scrape past preliminaries were wrong. He was right. They made it. He didn’t fail them, and—

Jean grabs his shoulder. Jeremy’s gaze snaps back up to meet his, and all he can say is, “We made it.”

And after a sharp intake of breath, Jean hugs him, which is something incredible all by itself. Jeremy is only a few inches shorter than him, but it makes all the difference when he’s not the one hugging Jean. They’re still in the player’s bench, and people are distracted by each other, but he knows that something amazing must have gone through Jean’s head when he looked at Jeremy to make him do this.

“Don’t doubt it again,” Jean tells him, letting him go. There’s familiarity in his words, as if he’s reciting something. “Don’t make them let you doubt yourself again.”

“Not after we win,” Jeremy says, and he can’t stop smiling. For a moment, and he knows he’s not imagining it, Jean does too.

 

* * *

 

What little comfort Jean has on the team starts to show more and more with championships on the horizon. He’s gotten a lot antsier than normal, mostly talking to Jeremy more than usual and being unable to hide his nervousness during practices. He still jumps whenever someone asks if he’s alright, but he doesn’t snap at them anymore, which is something.

Though at first, Jeremy is confused to why championships would make Jean nervous when he’s been to a million of them, but then he remembers their conversations at the beginning of the year, and that this will be the first time Jean faces the Ravens again.

So sometimes at the end of the day, Jeremy will be half awake in bed after hours of practice and fifth year exhaustion, and Jean with throw Jeremy’s duffle bag at him and say, “Court,” and Jeremy won’t kill him. In return, Jean won’t complain when Jeremy makes them stop by a convenience store to knock cheap coffee and protein bars so they can stay awake.

Despite the lack of sleep, Jeremy comes to enjoy these practices, mostly because without a team to watch, Jean will ask Jeremy whatever he wants to. Jean’s dedication to the Raven’s perfect game style hasn’t disappeared, but it’s degraded through his growing desire to trump his former team when they face off. While he’s not a backliner, Jeremy has enough experience and leadership skill to be able to instruct Jean about his own style with ease.

“What team do you want to play for?” Jean asks one night, facing Jeremy down in front of the empty goal.

Jeremy pauses at the unusual question, careful not to drop his defensive stance. He and Jean have switched places so that Jeremy can demonstrate some complex technique, and though he knows Jean wouldn’t take the dirty move, Jeremy himself would if he were in Jean’s position. Just for kicks, so can slam Jean into the boards like he used to. “For what?”

“For pro.” Jean rolls his eyes as if Jeremy had just asked a stupid question. “When you get recruited.”

That takes him off-guard. “You’re interested in what team I get into?”

“It’s Exy. I keep up with Exy,” Jean says.

“No, you asked me what team I _want_ to get into. Which are the Jets, since you’re interested.” He blocks Jean again when he tries to pass. “Maybe you’re just interested in what teams I like.”

Jean scowls. “Can you not flirt with me when we’re trying to practice?”

“You started it,” Jeremy huffs. And stops. “Flirt?”

“Yes, flirt. You do it all the time.” Jeremy shakes his head as if to show indifference, but he’s not doing a good job at looking Jeremy in the eye.

This is the first time they’ve talked about their partnership like this and Jeremy might just choke on his own breath. “Wha… No?”

Jean blinks in surprise. “You getting up in my face? The touching? The staring? The Winter Banquet? You—” It dawns on him. He pulls his helmet off so he can drag a hand down his face. “You didn’t know.”

“I… I was trying to adjust to the whole soulmate thing. I was not— What are you—” Memories hit Jeremy like a train wreck. Of course. Of course he’d been playing some screwed up form of courtship this entire time.

And— Wait.

Jeremy shakes his head. “I was not flirting with you at the Winter Banquet. I didn’t even know about… how I…”

No. Wait. The smooth talking. The staring. The _champagne glass_. Oh holy god he’d been flirting with Jean all the way back to the _Winter Banquet_.

“What the… What’s wrong with you?” Jean’s eyes are wide with disbelief. “You can’t seriously have been doing all of that subconsciously.”

“You realize I’m not the only one here with self-esteem issues, right?” Jeremy asks. “I have no idea how long this has been going on, but you were definitely not helping when you were beating me up on the court during the summer. You know how much I liked that! Speaking of which—” He stops Jean when he tries to reply, and, with emotion-fueled grace, floors him in two moves flat. “You still haven’t done that right.”

Jeremy consequently forgets Jean doesn’t give two shits about cheating the moment Jeremy tricks him, and gets his feet kicked out from under him. Jeremy launches himself back at Jean, and just like that they’re wrestling. It’s one big replay of last summer, when they had three months to throw each other around and prove themselves.

Back then, Jeremy was trying to prove to Jean he was worth following. Now, he’s has to prove to Jean he’s worth _wanting_. Now that he’s realized it, he guesses. He might have been doing this for a while.

Jean eventually pins him down, using Jeremy’s sleep deprivation and distress against him so that he’s hovering over him, breath short but hot against Jeremy’s mouth.

“Like that,” Jeremy says. “That’s what you’d do.” His fingers clench. “This is what you do to me.”

Jean inhales a sharp breath at their proximity, but doesn’t move. The usual steel in his eyes has softened into something warier, more conscious of the person in front of him. “Jeremy.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy says, mind blank at the sound of his own name.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Jean tells him. “I haven’t been able to believe anything. Not since he died. And this.” A hand drags down Jeremy’s forearm, right over Jean’s words appear. “This can’t be real.”

“I asked you if I was good enough, back in September.” Jean’s grip tightens on Jeremy, which could only mean he’s right. He looks Jean in the eye when he tells him, “You told me to wait for someone who would tell me I was.”

“I can’t do this,” Jean hisses, stopping him. “I don’t know what I’m doing. And you’re…”

Jeremy can feel his heartrate rising. His hands would be shaking if they weren’t kept under Jean’s grip. Maybe he could feel it. It wouldn’t be the first time. “What are you doing now?” he asks.

“Dreaming,” Jean says, and then leans in.

This isn’t a romantic kiss. It’s a self-assuring kiss. It takes and it takes and leaves Jeremy with no time to breathe, no time to think or respond. It’s all breath and teeth and pressure that makes Jeremy wonder what Jean is trying to tell himself, because all of it is right here. Pain. Confusion. Doubt, a lot of doubt.

Jean’s grip eventually loosens on one of his hands, and Jeremy uses that to reach for Jean’s face. To reassure him, calm him down and ease him into the idea that _no, this isn’t the nightmare you’re thinking of. This is real._

And then he feels Jean’s scar, fingertips grazing the number on his cheekbone, and Jean goes still. Jeremy flinches as Jean shoves them apart and recomposes himself. Jeremy cringes at the realization that he had overstepped his boundaries.

“I hate this,” Jean says, a hand pressed over his tattoo. “Fuck, he’s never going to leave. I’m never…”

“Jean,” Jeremy calls, but he goes unheard. “Jean, look at me.”

Hesitantly, Jean does. Jeremy doesn’t think he’s ever seen this much emotion on him. He’s drenched in it. Without thinking, Jeremy reaches out and presses a knuckle to Jean’s wrist, easing it away from his face so he can see the tattoo in all its glory. He wants nothing more than to erase it from existence, as if doing so would erase Riko from Jean’s past.

But he can’t, and neither can Jean.

“When I said I’d take all of you, I meant it,” Jeremy tells him, letting their hands fall to the side so that there’s nothing in between them. “

“You don’t know what all of this means,” Jean tells him.

“I’ve been _trying_ ,” Jeremy hisses. “And I don’t know if I will, but I’m sure as hell that I can _try_.”

“Why?” Jean asks. “What do you want?”

“Someone who’s always understood,” Jeremy tells him. “And someone who challenges the best from me, whether they notice it or not.” He leans back, so that Jean can look at him in full and see the honesty in his stance. “And both of those just happened to be you.”

Jean pauses, looking at where their hands linger just next to his knee. Jeremy looks down and realizes he’s been ready to take Jean’s hand again, and quickly moves to withdraw it.

“Haven’t you realized that I can’t give you anything?” Jean says. “He didn’t leave me with anything to give.”

“Then don’t,” Jeremy assures, heart racing again at the look in Jean’s eyes. “All I want is for you to try, for me.” And after a pause, “For yourself.”

 

* * *

 

March second is on a weekend without a game. It should be a relief, like every year, but Jeremy finds himself wishing for nothing but the court. He doesn’t know where his and Jean’s relationship is at the moment, and it’s making him anxious. He needs to distract himself, except everyone just happened to accept that today would be their rest day, as per previous Captain Knox experiences, and Jeremy couldn’t find a good argument.

He ends up pouring all of his nervous energy into obsessing over the fact that tomorrow is _Jean’s birthday_ , and he’s probably the only one who knows or has any chance of acknowledging it as a legitimate holiday. Luckily, Jean is going to be at Quinnie’s all day, so he’s not going to be around to see Jeremy freak out.

“Jeremy?” Laila finds him in the lounge, trying to stuff a cake into their overly-crowded fridge. “What are you doing?”

“It’s Jean’s birthday,” he says, out of breath. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow is Jean’s birthday.”

Laila does a double take and runs straight into the couch. Alvarez, because she and Laila haven’t been three steps from each other since the Winter Banquet, jumps up from behind her and simultaneously chokes on her own words.

Their reaction surprises him, and he realizes he’s been so distracted trying to sort out this soulmate thing with Jean at home that nobody _here_ knows about him and Jean. Jean will be pissed. “Don’t tell him I told you, he’s going to hate us if we make a big deal about it.”

“Are you— Oh my _god_ , Captain, you do realize today is the day you get your mark?” Alvarez gasps, looking back and forth from Jeremy’s unseasonal jacket.

“I’m trying not to think about it,” Jeremy says through clenched teeth, and finally stacks the fridge contents to safely include the cake. He slams the door shut and knocks his forehead against the surface.

“This is so surreal,” Alvarez says, feeling for the couch. She sits down and cradles her head in her hands before flopping sideways. “Jean Moreau is not your soulmate.”

“Jean is my soulmate,” Jeremy corrects, and stands up. “And this shouldn’t be— It’s a work in progress, okay?”

“So he’s like… ‘pulled the plug’ soulmate?” Jeremy and Laila give Alvarez a look. “So like Kayleigh Day and Tetsuji Moriyama soulmates.”

Jeremy pulls a face and then waves between her and Laila, to which Alvarez gapes at him.

“No way.” She shakes her head. “We kiss you know? That’s not just my imagination?”

“We do kiss,” Laila confirms, looking fairly red.

“I know,” Jeremy says.

“So this is… This is an actual thing? Right?” Alvarez freezes. “Like, don’t tell me that Jean Moreau has kissed you. Back? On the mouth? With his own mouth?”

“That’s none of your business,” Jeremy tells her, but Alvarez is already looking up at the ceiling in despair. “Stop. We barely even know what’s going on right now, and the only people he’ll talk to about this are his therapist and his only friend, who is on the other side of the country, so—”

“ _Only_ friend?” That’s Laila, surprisingly. When Jeremy turns to her, she looks so offended that her fury is plain as day. “Doesn’t he know he has teammates?”

Jeremy stares at her, wondering how much time he’s spent around Jean that he’s forgotten that this is supposed to be a surprising concept. “Those aren’t interchangeable terms to the Ravens, Laila.”

“You mean he’s a dick because he doesn’t know there are people here that actually care about him?” Alvarez says, now upright on the couch. “I thought that was just. His personality.”

“It is,” Jeremy says. “He’s defensive. He just happens to keep his guard up here more.”

Laila’s mouth turns into a fine line. Resolve flashes in her eyes, and she suddenly turns on her heel and strides right back out the door. Alvarez looks from her retreating girlfriend to Jeremy, unsure of what to comment on first and how.

Jeremy just hopes people don’t find out about this.

 

* * *

 

People find out. But it turns out to not be such a bad thing.

He and Jean haven’t talked about the mark by March third, mostly because neither of them has had it in them to bring it up, but it’s forced out eventually. Particularly when he walks into the court lounge with Jean the next day, and there are significantly more people than usual there. Jeremy only has a second to process it before an offensive dealer named Davies throws confetti in their faces.

Jean spits it out, in shock. “What the hell—”

“We’re not friends,” Davies tells him. “But if someone punched you in the face, I would punch them back. Unless it was Captain. Captain can punch you in the face.”

Jeremy finally recovers from the confetti assault enough to stare down at the crowded room. “I’m not going to punch Jean in the face and…” He turns to Jean, who looks from the room to Jeremy, accusingly. “I told two people!”

“Get in here, Moreau!” Alvarez appears from Jeremy’s right with Laila to collect Jean and throw him into the couches.

Jean himself is too dumbfounded to even reply properly. “This isn’t— I don’t need—”

“Hey, Jean.” Jean looks up at the unusual use of his first name, and Laila is bent over him with a challenging look on her face. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Is this a test?” he asks.

“Yes.” That’s McArthur, who’s grabbed Jeremy and dragged him to the opposite couch. He tearing his way through a box of store-bought cookies that don’t actually appear to be for the party. Or whatever this is. “Answer wrongly and we’ll throw Captain’s cake in your face.”

Jean’s shocked gaze turns to Jeremy, who is glaring at McArthur. And Alvarez. And everyone in the room. He’s too embarrassed to be pacifistic right now.

“…Green… I think,” Jean says slowly, unsure. Laila raises an eyebrow. “I’m fond of green,” he specifies.

“I was hoping red or gold, but that works too.” Something small and circular drops onto Jean’s lap, and he picks it up to reveal a handmade bracelet. A green one, out of many in Laila’s hand. “We are officially friends now. This is our token of friendship. You don’t have to wear it, but I am giving it to you, so it’s yours now, and if you try to give it to anyone else, they will refuse, so you’re stuck with me and my friendship for now.”

“Captain gets the yellow one because gold’s _his_ favorite color,” Alvarez tells Jean, and throws a bracelet Jeremy’s way. It is, of course, yellow, and he’s already feeling particularly attached to it. “So he’s part of the friendship circle too now, just in case you guys break up or something.”

There’s a rattle of noise amongst the present group. Jeremy wants to say that they’re not dating, but he doesn’t know what he expected. Most people on this team knew when his soulmate’s birthday was because of the holiday rule, but he spots the wide-eyed group of freshmen frozen stiff by the kitchen and well, he guesses not everyone is in the loop. One of them drops her glass when one of the upperclassmen explains and mutters a small “holy fuck.”

“We already put candles on the cake,” McArthur says to Jeremy, shrugging. “Hope you don’t mind.”

The cake. Oh fuck. “Wait, oh my god, don’t bring that out.”

“Bring it out,” Jean says immediately after Jeremy’s reaction, and Terras emerges from the kitchen. She’s expressionless like always, but walks in a way that’s prouder than usual.

“Happy birthday,” she tells Jean, and ruffles his hair before shoving the cake in front of him.

Jean looks down at it hesitantly, and pauses when he reads the writing. McArthur, Alvarez, and few others lean over to examine it as well while Jeremy sinks deep into the couch behind him.

After a moment or two, Jean starts shaking. No one else seems to notice, except Terras and McArthur, who have seen it are unsurprised, but Alvarez looks back up at Jeremy with an accusing glare and says, “‘Best Cheerleader’?”

And then Jean bursts out laughing. That makes the entire room jump in surprise. He’s bent over himself trying to catch his breath, his voice rough as if he hasn’t used it in years. Not like this. He’s simultaneously trying to hide his face and stop at the same time, so his head just sinks to his knees as he covers his hands over his head, whispering, “Oh, god,” and some other things in French that Jeremy is too shocked to pick out by now.

“What the fuck,” McArthur finally says.

“ _Ces rêves,_ ” he chuckles. “ _Ils sont…_ ” He trails off when he realizes he’s still speaking in French, and finally looks back up at the rest of the room. “…I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Happy Birthday, Jean,” Jeremy finally says. He can’t stop smiling, not when Jean still is, no matter how fleeting it seems to be. He laughs. “I think I forgot to say this a year ago, but welcome to the USC Trojans.”

 

* * *

 

They’re able to escape early, but instead of going back to the dorms, Jeremy drives them down to that vegetarian place Jean likes and lets Jean pile him on with health food again. Afterwards they go back to the chocolatier and sit by the curb as the sun disappears over the horizon.

In the middle of their comfortable silence, Jean takes Jeremy’s right wrist and pulls it towards him. Jeremy instinctively sucks in a breath when Jean’s thumb pulls his sleeve down the slightest. When he turns back up, Jean’s face only a breath away from his.

“I’m supposed to get my answer soon,” Jean tells him. “What did I ask?”

It takes a moment to learn how to speak again. “Are we allowed to ask each other that?” Jeremy says, trying not to stammer.

Jean narrows his eyes. “Who cares?”

“I do.” Jeremy waves his free hand and scoffs. “I’ve never done this before. I need rules.”

“There isn’t a guidebook to soulmates.”

“Yes there are,” Jeremy corrects him, shoving his face forward with challenge. “I looked it up on Amazon, people have written like hundreds of guides to soulmate-ship.”

Jean sends him a flat look. “Which one did you buy, Jeremy?”

“The special-edition Mark Hamill audiobook.” Jean gives a long, drawn-out sigh. “Oh, yeah,” Jeremy continues, grinning. “I was captain of my high school Exy team too. My family knows who they’re referring to when one of my teammates says ‘Knox’.”

Jean stares at him. He opens his mouth, closes it, and for a second, Jeremy even thinks he’s blushing. No, he’s sure of it. Even when Jean shakes his head to try and hide it.

“Unbelievable,” Jean tells him, and then he pulls Jeremy in.

And this. _This_ is a romantic kiss. It’s slow and mesmerizing, leaving Jeremy with just enough peace of mind that he can catch the back of Jean’s neck and bring them closer. Jean’s hand snakes up his forearm, pushing down the sleeve so his fingertips trace over Jeremy’s soul mark. His grip is protective, and as he eases away, Jeremy kisses him again, briefly, just so he knows this isn’t over.

“Did I really?” Jean asks, staring down at _Is this real?_ on Jeremy’s arm. It’s already fading away, and Jean rubs a thumb over it as if to try and bring it back.

“You’ve always been the blunt one.” Jeremy twists his arm so that he’s holding Jean’s arm instead. Jean looks at his face, and then slowly brings it up in an inviting manner. “I already know what I’ve answered,” he says, but tugs at Jean’s sleeve anyway, because Jean needs to see. He needs every bit of proof he can get.

“Is that so?” Jean asks, dazed, as the words take form right below his scarred wrist.

“Every minute, Jean Moreau,” Jeremy echoes, and pulls him in once more. “Every minute.”

Jean, quiet and unguarded and maybe even in love, looks at Jeremy with that familiar wonder in his eyes and dares to kiss him again.

 

* * *

 

They defeat the Foxes in semifinals. Jeremy expects Kevin to be mad this year because of their new addition, but he looks just as proud of the Trojans as he does every year.

“Good game,” Jeremy tells Kevin, grinning. Kevin has a genuine smile on his face when they shake hands. “We’ll be sure to win championships for you.”

“I know,” Kevin says. He seems irritated, a little, but mostly at his own team. “We’ll be cheering you on.”

Neil Josten appears to be watching the scene with interest, shifting his gaze from Kevin to Jean. Jeremy remembers vaguely that Josten had spent some time at the Ravens, and the tension is impossible not to detect. He nearly yelps when Andrew Minyard seems to just appear out of nowhere from behind Josten, seemingly having nothing better to do.

“Josten,” Jean says, carefully taking notice of Andrew.

“Jean,” Neil greets. He doesn’t react to Minyard’s surprise appearance and looks over Jean’s full form instead. “Nice jersey.”

Jean is a foot taller than Josten, but the young striker somehow manages to compare through sheer will alone. Jean is no better, with a full scowl and an icy gaze, but he doesn’t seem ill with malicious intent, so Jeremy doesn’t hold him back.

“I told him not to get red carded for you guys,” Jeremy admits to Kevin and Josten. Renee, who is not two feet away, snorts with laughter. “I think he’s mad he didn’t get his trophy.” And he just laughs when Jean shoves his shoulder. It’s a little affectionate. And their hands might have brushed. But, well, no one else seems to have noticed.

“Good job,” Kevin tells Jean, much more tense than he had said to Jeremy, but meaningful nonetheless. He holds out his hand to his former friend.

Jean takes it and looks Kevin in the eye. There’s no mask or media smile, but raw intent when the cameras flash for the iconic reunion.

“Same to you,” he tells Kevin, and after a moment, says something in French. Both Kevin and Josten seem to react to it, and whatever he said must have really been miraculous, because Kevin pulls away looking more awestruck than usual.

The atmosphere breaks when Renee runs up and hugs Jean. Behind him, Alvarez yells something about how Jean never lets her hug him like that, and rushes in to ruin the moment further. Kevin looks like a train wreck is happening in front of him in slow motion as McArthur joins the party.

Jeremy steps back to give them space and subsequently catches Minyard dragging Josten away from the mess by the wrist. Jeremy realizes in that instant that he’d instinctively leaner closer to Jean at the Foxes arrival, and dares to think that he may have found out who the surprise soulmates are.

 

* * *

 

They don’t play the Ravens for championships, but they do fight them for it. The Ravens aren’t the team they used to be, but they’re still just as angry as they are deadly. With the investigation and threat of termination on their backs, they won’t show mercy to any former Raven that shows up on their court.

Their nine-man lineup is deathly silent before the game. Jeremy uses the small amount of time he has before the game to run over plays in his head, reciting his notes from their videos in his head, and checking to see every teammate is ready and accounted for.

He spends extra time with Jean. Just a little, for his own sake too. He sits next to him and presses their shoulders together, and the moment they touch, Jean grabs his hand and doesn’t let go until his breathing returns to normal.

“Play for me,” Jeremy tells him, sincere. “But most importantly, play for you.”

“I will,” Jean promises. “I will.”

And he does just that. They all do. They play until they’re bleeding, with the memory of last year’s failure on their backs. Jean plays like it’s the last time he ever will, and Jeremy doesn’t have to try hard to keep up. He wants this just as much. He wants to kiss the feeling of loss goodbye. It’s always been lingering like the raven, haunting like a ghost, but this is the end. For Jean. For Jeremy. For this team’s title of second place.

_I’m just tired of losing._

 

* * *

 

The minute the final buzzer sounds, Laila tears her helmet off and breaks from the goal. Alvarez barely has enough time to throw her own aside before her soulmate leaps into her arms and they swoop in to kiss in the middle center court. Jeremy can hear every Trojans fan scream their names, a triumphant roar, because not one had left their seat.

All of this he takes in passing, because his first stop after they win against the Ravens is Jean, catching him before he collapses on his feet. Jeremy wraps one arm protectively around his shoulder and presses the other into Jean’s chest, keeping him upright.

“Hey,” he says as Jean lifts his head up to meet his gaze. “You proved yourself.”

And Jean looks out at the crowd before him, on the victorious side of the court again, but this time as his own person.

“Yeah,” Jean says. “I did.”

 

* * *

 

And they do it again.

They do it again, and there’s nothing Jeremy has ever felt like the weight of gold in his hands.

 

* * *

 

The end of year celebrations are some of the best days of Jeremy’s life. There’s finally a championship trophy in their cabinet, with Jeremy’s name as that captain that took them there. He wants it home himself and keep it for good, but Alvarez convinced him that it was better for people to see that that dumbass that cut the line a year ago is _the_ championship captain of the USC Trojans.

The team drags him into the lounge the day before graduation, when Jeremy least expects it, and they shove a framed picture of their championship team at him, signed by every member of the team. Even as he’s giving his goodbye speech, Jeremy is crying before he knows it, which causes Alvarez to cry, which causes McArthur to burst into tears. A lot of people are crying, he notices.

“At least I know why you hate my team now,” Jeremy says, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “We’re all such saps.”

“I don’t,” Jean admits. “Not that much.”

“Good,” Jeremy tells him, taking a deep breath. “You’re going to have to deal with them without me next year.”

“Captain?”

Laila steps toward him. She’s wearing her old jersey, but her hands are clutching it hard as if she’s trying to keep herself together. Jeremy smiles and holds out a hand to her.

“It’s just Jeremy now,” he tells her.

“You’ll always be captain to me,” she says to him.

“But then you’ll confuse me with yourself.” He sees her sharp intake of breath. “I got my captaincy in my junior year too. You’re going to do just fine.”

She shakes her head, mostly to hide the oncoming tears. “Thank you for everything.” She chokes out a sob, and then grabs him, crushing him against her tiny body. “Thank you so much.”

The action causes the whole crowd to follow in suit. He’s surrounded by Trojans, a frame digging into his chest and someone crying on his shoulder. There’s a hand on the back of his neck, and while Jean can’t be as dramatic as his teammates, the smile on his face shows says enough already.

 

* * *

 

“If you don’t visit us I will break into the Jets’ training court myself and drag you back here.” Alvarez shoves Jeremy’s last duffel bag into his arms and glares at it is if it’s offended her.

“Please don’t do that,” Jeremy sighs, and tosses the last bag into the backseat. “You won’t be able to visit after that.”

“So fucking visit,” Alvarez tells him. She wants to say something more, he can tell, but nothing that goes through her head seems to be good enough for her. Jeremy finally offers her an open hug, to which she takes. “Good luck, Captain.”

“You’re going to confuse me with L—”

“Fuck as if I’m going to call my girlfriend the same name I’ve used for my best friend.” Alvarez shoves him away, straightening up. She starts to say more, but her eyes drift to his arms. A year ago, there was a haunted look in her eyes at the sight of his bare arms. Now, her lip curls in irritation, and she immediately turns her gaze to the man behind her. “Say something to your soulmate, Dickraven.”

 Jeremy snorts, while Jean cringes. “He’s…” Jean pauses. He sideglances Jeremy inquisitively, but doesn’t negate Alvarez like Jeremy expects him to. “…fine. He’ll be fine.” He then cringes like he doesn’t believe himself.

“You can stop hurting yourself,” Jeremy says, making Jean sigh with relief. “I will be fine, thank you Jean.” He gives Jean a knowing look. “If I’m not, you’ll know.”

Jean’s expression twitches, unsatisfied. “Alvarez, are you done? Can you leave?”

“Sure, these are only my final moments with my Captain, who coached me and taught me everything I know, who I respect and admire with every bit of my being like the older brother I never had, who might not even _visit_ —”

“Except I will,” Jeremy interrupts.

“Will you _please_ leave,” Jean tries again, through his teeth.

Alvarez huffs, but follows it with an encouraging look. “I’ll see you around, Captain,” she promises, and then leaves with one last wave goodbye. Even though he’ll be back, it’s hard to watch her let him go. She means so much to him, her presence and friendship has given him more than he can imagine over the years. He’s going to miss her every day.

And then there’s Jean.

The minute she’s out of sight, Jean steps forward, taking Jeremy off guard. His back hits the surface of his car, but the nervousness he once felt from this proximity has disappeared. It’s replaced with a tension brought by Jean’s hesitance, the tentative way he bends in, never taking his eyes of Jeremy’s. Jeremy, once he’s regained himself helps him out by meeting him halfway.

This kiss, though it should, doesn’t feel like goodbye. It feels like hello. A greeting, a brief press of lips with the greatest amount of feeling that says a million things at once, such as “I’m here,” “I waited,” and “Welcome home.” Jean’s hand drags down Jeremy’s arms, curling up around the wrists. When he pulls away, Jeremy twists one hand so that’s it’s slid into Jean’s, warming the cold skin of Jean’s palm.

“What does this mean?” Jeremy asks him, staring at their entwined fingers.

Jean squeezes his hand, a fleeting look in his eye. “It means I want you,” he tells Jeremy. “I want to keep this, and I might be ready to try.”

A warm feeling blooms in his chest. The same feeling the comes with finally knowing that Jean is here, safe with him, and that Jeremy’s helping him get there. But it’s also that feeling he gets when Jean looks down at him with something close to affection, like he wants to kiss him again, and it’s distracting.

Jeremy reaches up to touch Jean’s face, hovering over the battered side of his face. Jean closes his eyes, and Jeremy’s hand meets the scar, running over it with a feather light touch, brushing over his tattoo. He envelops it, covering them away from existence, wishing he could take them away.

 _You can’t take anything from him_ , he tells himself, and then pulls Jean down so he can press his lips against the scar. _But you can give him this_.

Jean’s breath hitches when Jeremy’s mouth meets his cheek. Twice, again at the corner of his mouth. He steps back, dazed, and pauses, taking in Jeremy’s entire being as he finds his place of mind again.

“ _Someone will, if you let them find you_ ,” Jean recites. “It was the first answer you gave me, when I asked you if my parents would love me.” He takes a breath. “That was the first time I dreamt of you.”

It’s the first time Jean has spoken about their answers without spite, or this time, with fondness. Jeremy is about to reply, when a memory catches him first. “You gave it back to me,” he realizes. “That night, when I told you my birthday. And when Jean looks at him with confusion, “ _Find someone that will tell you that you are._ ”

“I thought of this that night,” Jean tells him. “I needed to answer, but you woke me up and all I could think about was that first answer.” He scoffs. “I was angry at myself.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted it to be you,” Jean tells him. “You’ve always been a dream to me. There was no hope in that place, nothing except you. You and your secrets and answers, they were all that kept me company. When I came here, everything was telling me that dream was real.”

“Is that what you’re scared of?” Jeremy asks. “Waking up?”

“I’m scared of a lot of things.”

“That makes two of us.” A smile creeps its way to Jeremy’s face, and Jean looks at him with a soft expression. Jeremy likes this look on him. It’s peaceful. Fulfilling, in a way. “Maybe we face that together.”

“Maybe,” Jean says. “I can try going places with that.”

“Not the beach,” Jeremy promises, half-jokingly. “We don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want.”

Jean shakes his head. “I want to go back someday, to Marseille,” he confesses. “It’s the last place I remember being happy.”

Jeremy looks up. He remembers the dark looks he’s found in Jean’s eyes, that shadow of experience. It’s here now, but dimmed by the light of the sunset, in a way that gives it new meaning. _Hope_ , Jeremy thinks.

“Am I invited?” he asks, finally.

“You’ll manage to find a way to come anyways,” Jean reminds him.

Jeremy scoffs. “You can’t get away with that. Tell me yes.”

Jean kisses him again, stealing his breath in one move. It’s cleaner than he’s ever done on the court, not from skill, but just pure feeling.

“Help me get there,” he says against Jeremy’s mouth. “That’s all I can ask of you.”

Jeremy presses his forehead against Jean’s, taking him in one more time, his presence and touch, the way he’s relaxed in Jeremy’s hands. There’s tension in his fingers, and Jeremy eases it with the slight press of his thumb. “And that’s all I need.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over. Holy shit.
> 
> Harmhg. Okay. wipes sweat. Okay. Cool. It 'S OV ER?? Oh my gOD.
> 
> Okay so!!! End notes!!! Thanks so much to [Sarah](ziegenkind.tumblr.com) and [Jenny](http://rileybluuseys.tumblr.com/) for being Best Cheerleaders (i can finally make that joke fuck you sarah) and everyone who supported me through the release of this hugeass fic!!! You guys mean so much to me ??? Everyone who commented and kept my self esteem up YES YOU !!!! Unless that wasn't you. Then thank you so much for reading. 
> 
> Comment, bookmark, or kudo! Make me happy! Don't want to do any of that?? Well, fuck, I'm sad as hell, but thanks for stopping by anyways! It's been such a ride with these Exy losers and the Knox fam and Laila and Alvy and McArthur, that fucker, and the rest of the TFC crew! I'm so glad I could share this with y'all, it was so much fun to write! 
> 
> Many thanks and much love, yours truly and from the bottom of my heart, sincerely me,  
> Lynn.


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